On Rereading

Just do it, pick up a book, it's subversive

Finn shaved off his prominent and scratchy salt-and-pepper beard yesterday. It is taking some getting used to. A beard takes away a lot of expressive nuance. I didn’t know what I was missing, and now that I do, I hope he never grows that thing back out. Where there was plain mischief, now there is mild perversity. What used to be simple and engaging has now become something urbane and poised. This is Finn 2.0 and I am here for it.

There was a used-book fair, and I finally unpacked the bag and put away my finds. Ah, yes— a tattered copy of The Handmaid’s Tale, a book that I swore I would never read again, because a TV series diluted the potency of Margaret Atwood’s masterpiece.

Though I’ve written harshly about Mum, I’ve forgiven my mother for most of her transgressions. I am grateful she left this book where I would find it. In one Saturday afternoon in 10th grade, I read halfway through and finished on Sunday. Stephen King’s fantastical horrors had NOTHING over this book. I didn’t think of much else for weeks.

1988: “It couldn’t happen here, or could it?”

2022: “Excuse me, what?”

2026: “We are so fucked.”

I’m going to reread it, as soon as I possibly can. I want to see what it ignites in me, to observe my perspective now that I am nothing more to them than a spent reproductive system.