i often lunch with a friend, a book by a favorite author. spearing salad or twirling noodles with one hand, absorbing the words from the book held by the other. and i found myself wondering just where i might meet my favorite authors. how would we meet, what might be said? i couldn't get the thought out of my head. i wrote a few down. it made me feel better. i rather felt we had met...
roald dahl... i’d meet you while i’m sitting on a
bench in a park, or waiting for a bus. i think you’d amble by and slowly,
awkwardly sit, old knees creaking, a pancake cap on your head. i think you’d
speak first. a remark in passing, perhaps on a passerby. you’d use a word like
frumptious or gloozy or grobscroppling, you know the way you make your words
work for you. you may not smile, not once during the whole conversation. i
don’t picture you smiling, i don't think you often do. but by the time we part ways, i’d surely be grinning, a rumbly chuckle threatening to well up and over. it would stay with me all day.
xo. r
What a beautiful, beautiful post. Roald Dahl, good call :)
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