Word Number 7 Looseleft

adj. feeling a sense of loss upon finishing a good book, sensing the weight of the back cover locking away the lives of characters you’ve gotten to know so well.

From looseleaf, a removable sheet of paper + left, departed.

I feel there is a waiting period required after finishing a book and starting a new one. That I must respect the lives of the characters who were a part of my life through the pages in my fingers. This is true for me regardless of the form the book takes, audio, computer text, phone text, printed, etc. The characters dance in my lives regardless. I just finished making my first quilt, quite the repetitive task, but once I had the rhythm down I was able to fill my stitches with books. In this case audio books since my hands were occupied, but when I look at my finished quilt, I not only see the bright colors, but the characters I wrestled with. Yosarian from “Catch-22” hides in the blue trying without success to escape the never-ending pattern of squares. My favorite knight Alana the Lioness bravely traverses peak after peak longing for more adventure, her cat Faithful perched on her shoulder the entire time hissing and spitting at my cats who attempt to make the quilt their new home. When the uneven puffiness of the thing catches my eye, I am reminded of “Winter’s Orbit”, when Jainan and Kiem‘s fly bug crashes and together we traverse the freezing surface of Iskan V. They fell in love on my quilt, on their icy planet.

Everyone has their own unique experience with a book, we read the same words, but our brain connects the dots independently, being shaped by personal beliefs, childhood, and life in general. The experience at some point becomes intimate. Is it not heartbreaking when you recommend someone a book and they don’t like it?? I have a hard time not understanding how the book I recommended didn’t change the recomendee's life, but it’s possible I take my relationships with characters a little more seriously than some as I am known to have conveniently related interests upon completion of a good book.

For those who don’t know already, I now prefer to go by the name Max and use they/them pronouns. I have felt like “Max” for a long time, my choosing of the name not coinciding but combining with my undying love for a fictional character from a book series I started years ago, receiving it for Christmas, Maximum Ride. Essentially, it’s about a hybrid bird girl and her “flock” who beats the shit out of bad people. There’s like 15 books in the series now, and I of course am caught up. But I still remember the first time I read it.

I was in Colorado at my grandparent’s cabin we would visit during the holidays. A cozy place about 30 miles from the closest very small town. There was snow on the ground and the 14ers (14,000 foot) mountains in the backyard loomed. Giants attempting to hold back a coming flood of dark storm clouds ominously gathering. The outside temperature was in the low 20’s but the house was warm. Heat radiated up from the orange floors and a fire burned in the stove. Flopping my feet over the arms of a recliner chair, I opened the first page.

Two books and 3 years later I was in high school, reading in front of the fireplace in my parent’s house in California. They had people over and were playing Settlers of Catan for the 100th time at the dining room table. “Are you sure you don’t want to play? You can be blue” my mom bribed. “No” I’d grunt, keeping my annoyed glare aimed at the book in case it earned me a place in the family activity.

I continued to grow up and the books along with me. For a while I forgot about them, happening upon the newest on a date to a Barns and Noble.

“Holy shit another Maximum Ride book? I can’t believe this series is still going!”

“Never heard of it” said the date steering us out of the YA section.

I felt like this was NOT the time to tell him I had many a fantasy about being Max, that a hybrid bird girl and her gang of orphans who I related to most. I didn’t buy the book on that date, but did return.

Then, one day at Starbucks, “Name for the order please?”

“Max” I said

This was the first time I used it in public, I looked around as I waited for my coffee, worried someone would know I wasn’t “Max”

But it didn’t happen, they called “Max” and I got my drink and left. Nothing and everything had changed. I could just be Max.

While the series continues endlessly, it hasn’t interfered much with my memory of Max as a kid. Regardless of what has happened in the new books, I continue to look up to her. In my head she has become a role model that will essentially never let me down. A version of the character that now belongs to me alone. One of my closest friends read this series with me as a kid and it continues to be an additional thread of connection we share as adults.

You can learn so much about a person by what books they read, or if they don’t. I love to stalk people on Goodreads. I think it’s much more telling than social media. It’s especially hard to fake liking something when you read an entire book about it. While seeing people on social media at their best is addicting, it really does very little to connect with the person. Fuck the pictures, I want to know what you read when you’re sad, what’s your comfort book? I know to text my friend something supportive when Her Royal Highness by Rachel Hawkins comes up as “currently reading” again. Do you read nonfiction, what kind? Are you a fast or a slow reader? Is there a goal? Are the books technical or YA? Maybe you bounce around between one book and the next, tasting a little bit of each world before you decide where you want to land. If you really want to get to know someone, ask them about their favorite book, and then read it.

Yours,

Maxie

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References

Koenig, John. The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition