Walking and Reading

I was pulling out of my neighborhood yesterday and waited at the intersection for a guy to cross the street in front of me. Nothing unusual about that...except...he was completely oblivious to his surroundings. He had a book open in his hand and he never looked up from it. Stepped right off the sidewalk and crossed in front of my car and continued on his way. Completely engrossed, absorbed into another world contained on the pages in his hand. I just laughed.

And then I remembered Lauren, with the handle of an upright vacuum cleaner in one hand and a novel in her other hand. I acted like I was watching the TV, but I was actually watching something FAR more interesting: Lauren. She had no idea that she had been vacuuming the same spot for at least 5 minutes. She had no clue that someone was 'watching TV' and the vacuum cleaner was drowning out the sound (how rude) and she had no idea that it didn't matter because she was providing more entertainment than whatever was on TV at the time. I watched for a good 20 minutes. She would take her hand off of the handle and turn the page. Her hand would gently and slowly feel around the air, mindlessly searching for the handle again, while she stayed in the story. I bet she read at least a paragraph, unaware of her other hand floating around until it landed on the vacuum cleaner handle, vacuum still running, and rested there for another paragraph before she started pushing and pulling again, robotically. And her face was priceless--intense concentration, and every so often a soft smile showed up and vanished again with the next sentence.

I finally laughed out loud and she looked up at me. I was almost embarrassed to bring her back to the very boring present. Wherever she was had to be more interesting than a vacuum cleaner, a guy on the couch, and a TV showing Gilligan reruns. I guess I ruined my enjoyment too, because Lauren unplugged the vacuum and took it to another room to resume her 'vacuuming' and reading. Now all I was left with for entertainment was Gilligan.

Then there was Ricky. (Is there a disorder named for people who watch other people read?) Ricky loves westerns. I once watched him read the last two pages of a novel for at least half an hour. He kept reading a few lines, then he would stare away and think, then read or re-read a few lines, and stare some more. When I finally saw him close the book, I laughed at him and asked about the story, and why it took so long to read the last couple of pages.
"I didn't want to say goodbye to the characters. I was imagining what it would be like to be friends with them. I love them!"

I think his eyes might have been wet.

Oh, the power of a good book.