traces

     When you walk into a used book store, head to S, and look for David Sedaris. That's my first move every time. Sometimes I find nothing. And I move on. But trust me on this one: mosey over to the Sedaris books and flip through every page. His books are an anchor: when they don't want the memories anymore, when they need to move forward and leave it behind, people slip their baggage into his books and they disappear. I don't understand the thought process: letting something go but still knowing it's within arm's reach if you went hunting for it, all coupled with the possibility that someone can take everything away--there's no backup and it's gone. That's probably the point. I write letters to people no longer in my life. These letters address everything from missed opportunities to takebacks, compromises and future meetings. They're all feelings and emotions--it's not necessarily what I want or need. They're just the thoughts that need to come out. These are not letters I mail or stuff in a shoebox in my closet. After I finish a letter, I wait a week, read it again, and destroy it. It's a way to feel strong when you're powerless.
     Which must explain why I'm so fascinated by all the marginalia and notes inside books. Some books are full of careless highlighting or analysis straight out of Cliffs Notes, but on occasion there are the deliberate messages left to strangers. A note that explains everything I destroy in my own letters. I'm not sure if this note is addressed to me: the future steward of this book. But I like to think it is.

"Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim," by David Sedaris.

     The note, modularlly speaking, is fascinating. There's a mix of black and blue ink and lots of pencil (which my camera does not pick up very well). The note starts off as a poem with indentation and morphs into a statement of purpose for future relationships, the handwriting curling up the sides of the paper. The portion written in black is annotated by pencil markings in classic call-and-response form. There's also a shopping list upside down in relation to the rest of the text. This note must have been written over a short period of time, with the author returning again and again to make updates--adjusting its utility. Maybe hashed out in an afternoon, during lunch at one of the overpriced cafes on Market Street, or maybe at my favorite breakfast place on Lombard: they let you sit and write and are apologetic when they break your concentration to ask if you want a refill on your coffee. Great Belgian waffles. Quiet. Simple pleasures.

The note in pencil (black ink is bold, blue will be noted):

"you'd know I can't sleep
     without you breathing on my skin.

Looking for sailing ships in the Clouds
     Red wine, on raining
     mint tea, and honey
     warm arms around me
Kissing my body with your fingers.
     phone calls at two in the
   morning. Swimming for hours
dancing
   on the bar
                but only on sundays

James Brown and
  momson the
          stares of strangers,
makes you want to
   know them
to touch them.

[Flip]

missing you, I swear and
coffee, the boy in the
Coffee          if you knew me
          Shop

but
  you
  don't know me and there fine
          you'd know I hate the phone
you'd know my love for christmas and t
                                      you cannot     rue friends
                                                            love me
you'd know know that when I [heart], I love whole hearted.
                                                                                  unfortunately
                               (with my all)
                        [blue] because you [/blue] deserve
                                     nothing less, than my
                                           everything.

[Laundry list:] 
Shampoo
Toothpaste
Nail polish Remover

City College Ap."

There's some other redacted text above the phone line, but is illegible [see squiggly marks in photo]. There's also a receipt from a trip to Anthropologie where she bought "JRNL LEMON DROPS BLUEBIR 9.95 T" She paid cash:

If she shops at Anthropologie she doesn't stop dreaming. Get out while you still can. =)

from me to you

Brand Bookshop is alphabetized by genre and smells like sour dust--in a good way. There must be a leak somewhere behind the walls: picture drops of dirty water seeping through warped O-rings and collecting in small puddles on broken concrete floors. That, or dust smells sour to me or the homeless man sitting on the curb really needed his fix of used Michael Taussig before I passed through. Anyway, aside from the fusty smell and damp interior, Brand Bookshop is a great bookstore, and I purchase used books there every week. There's no question I'm a loyal customer, but I really have Ryan to thank for that.

I was searching for some David Sedaris on the cheap and came across "Barrel Fever."

I opened the book and knew immediately that there were two things I needed to do:
1) buy the book, which was marked down in pencil from $13.95 to $6.95, and
2) share with everyone I know this inscription from Ryan to Jessie

"Jessie --
   As you know, I'm one to reserve my smiles for the right occasion. But, David Sedaris, the author of these essays & short stories, has stolen a few smiles, just as have you.
   I have treasured, wrapped up, and put away the wonderful times that we have shared. Thank you for being such an amazing part of my life. And, thank you, for being my friend, with whom I've enjoyed a few smiles...
           [heart] Ryan
P.S. SantaLand"

Note: italics are substituted for underlined phrases.

Now, there's no doubt Ryan's note is elegant if not flirty and perhaps too smooth. There's something not kosher here. Maybe this is the book you give and the inscription you write to someone after a love affair ends and you don't really want to say anything yourself so you let a master of literature do the communicating for you. Or perhaps this is genuine sentiment and I'm just standing in the wake of this cosmic relationship that brought two people to heights of passion unrivaled by.... ah that's bullshit. The inscription is dated (not in the photo) "2/14/06" -- Valentine's Day. Strike one. This note ends up in a used book shop. Strike two. Jessie, rather than wrapping the book in plastic and storing the book in a freezer, sold the book for cold, hard cash. Maybe. There are plenty of unsupportable theories here: book thieves, book pirates, book aliens, etc. But perhaps store credit good toward the purchase of other used books is most easy to swallow. In any case, what keeps this note from being a strikeout is that I found it and put it on the internet, which is more like a fat catcher legging out that rare triple.

Now I'm on a mission to find all the little things people leave behind in the books they give away. Not just the inscriptions like the one above, but also the more unusual evidence of a book's previous life: personal notes, shopping lists, routes to new restaurants, animal drawings not drawn to scale, or receipts. Pretty much anything found inside a book that the author did not put there. That's what I'm looking for and I hope you'll help. Scour your used book stores and if you find something that steals a smile from you, send me a picture of the note and book cover, and I'll archive your addition for tens of people to appreciate.