Dr. Egan: Hi Gregory, I’m so sorry for being late—things ran longer than expected.

Gregory: It’s okay. Are you okay? You seem a bit rattled.

Dr. Egan: Yes, I’m fine. How are you? How long have you been sitting here?

Gregory: It’s been a minute.

Dr. Egan: I’m sorry. I see About Something on your lap. Glad you kept yourself busy—unfortunately, I don’t have a large library in my salle d’attente.

Gregory: How fancy of you to nonchalantly throw in French words to impress me with your polyglot . . . polyglotness.

Dr. Egan: It was unintentional. My waiting room isn’t large enough to fit more books.

Gregory: It’s alright. I found one to nestle on my lap. Have you read it?

Dr. Egan: Yes. Have you?

Gregory: No. Well, a couple of pages. I think I’ll wait for the sequel, About Something: The Specifics—before I commit. I have a feeling it’s going to end on a cliffhanger.

Dr. Egan: Humor. A blessing and a curse.

Gregory: Why is it . . . What?

Dr. Egan: The specifics are in the book’s bibliography. Come on in and make yourself comfortable.

Gregory: Thanks.

Dr. Egan: Tea, coffee, water?

Gregory: Water. I’ll fetch it myself. Would you like some?

Dr. Egan: Sure.

Gregory: By the way, you have a signed On the Origin of Species on your shelf.

Dr. Egan: I do?

Gregory: Here you go.

Dr. Egan: Thanks. The water’s a bit warm. I forgot to turn on the cold switch. So, what’s on your mind today?

Gregory: Nothing special, really. The petite library in your foyer reminded me of—

Dr. Egan: I knew this would come up eventually, but I didn’t expect it so soon—nor with such a peculiar French accent.

Gregory: You know me too well, Dr. Egan.

Dr. Egan: It’s been almost eighteen years, so yes, I know a thing or two about you. You were saying?

Gregory: Your library reminds me of the video store where I work. Now it’s also a bookstore.

Dr. Egan: You never told me that it’s now also a bookstore. When did this happen? Was it your idea?

Gregory: Yeah, it happened after my last visit here. The owners were supportive of the idea because the business needed a boost. The revenue from the rentals is gradually declining.

Dr. Egan: Where did you manage to fit books in that small space?

Gregory: We built bookcases right in the middle of the store. The best part? The books are selling well. We restock the shelves once or twice a week.

Dr. Egan: Well done.

Gregory: Thanks. I was kinda hoping for a more enthusiastic reaction to this news, but—

Dr. Egan: . . .

Gregory: Stop! I was kidding, Dr. Egan! Oh my . . .

Dr. Egan: Go, G! Go, G!

Gregory: Okay, okay—please sit down. Dr. Egan, please stop clapping.

Dr. Egan: I’ll sit down when you stop laughing at me.

Gregory: I can’t. It’s a nervous laugh. Your whistling . . . Come on! Where did you even learn—

Dr. Egan: But seriously—I’m proud of you.

Gregory: Thank you! Oh my God . . . Eighteen years, and I’m still clueless about the full list of your talents.

Dr. Egan: Shall we switch focus?

Gregory: Not easy, but I’ll try. Remember . . . remember when we talked about my struggles with reading and learning?

Dr. Egan: Yes.

Gregory: Well, isn’t it ironic that I’m now managing a bookstore that I built, or rather, was built on my initiative?

Dr. Egan: Not at all. It’s wonderful, and I’m glad you’re excited about your work now.

Gregory: Yep. I feel a little more at ease in the mornings when I unlock the store. Even when we close late, I’m not as exhausted—especially on nights when we go book shopping after hours. Choosing books for our shelves brings me the most joy . . . but it puts me in a tough spot sometimes.

Dr. Egan: Why?

Gregory: Because some books only show up once at these wholesale places. If I don’t grab them right then, they’re gone—and I end up thinking about the ones I missed.

Dr. Egan: I understand. To be honest, I was worried about you when you started working there every day. A few months on that schedule could take a toll on anyone’s health, let alone almost two and a half years. Or has it been even longer?

Gregory: I’m now on a six-day shift, and it feels like I have all the time in the world on that one Sunday.

Dr. Egan: I bet it does. How’s everything else going for you?

Gregory: Everything else steadily ebbs and flows.

Dr. Egan: Mhm.

Gregory: Can we revisit our conversation from my teens about my challenges with reading?

Dr. Egan: Of course.

Gregory: I recently started revisiting and transcribing most of our conversations and came across a recording where we discussed this. I’d like to go over it with you now, if that’s okay.

Dr. Egan: Let’s do it.

Gregory: Okay. By the way, I still don’t know why you asked my parents to purchase a recording machine—pretty expensive for those days—to tape all our conversations for me to keep.

Dr. Egan: I can’t tell you the reason now. We’ll talk about it when—

Gregory: When the time comes. Sure. Your vague answers bug me sometimes, you know. But never mind—as you say. I don’t know where to put all these boxes with cassette tapes and discs anymore. So I started transcribing them to free up some space.

Dr. Egan: That’s a good idea.

Gregory: As you know, those challenges started in early childhood. I’d get stuck on a paragraph or even a single sentence for a while, unable to understand the meaning of what I was reading. I brought an excerpt from that conversation. This one is from when I was sixteen. Can I read it to you?

Dr. Egan: Yes, please.

Gregory: Okay, so . . .

But, Dr. Egan, how can I move forward without understanding what I’m reading? It doesn’t make sense to me.

You: Gregory, without getting into the weeds of why your mind behaves in such a way, I believe your lack of confidence in your ability to comprehend written information affects how you approach reading. You’re a smart kid, I’m confident you get the gist of what you read most of the time. Also, why is it important for you to understand every single meaning in a story?

Me: It’s very important. I’m afraid of missing crucial details and wasting my time blindly reading a book. I feel like I’m disrespecting the author by reading it like that. And what exactly do you mean by how my mind behaves? 

You: Don’t worry about it now. Are we talking fiction, nonfiction, or both?

Me: Mainly fiction. I can read and understand most nonfiction texts by skipping words while still grasping the content. However, and this is very important: do not ever test me.

You: Never.

Me: I’m interested in how the world works. I want to know everything. For most subjects, a few key pieces of information are enough to satisfy my curiosity. But sometimes, depending on the topic, I need more than a few pieces.

You: Is it also possible that you’re more interested in reading nonfiction?

Me: Umm, no. I don’t think so. It’s mainly the experience of reading. I also prefer reading short stories or poetry over full-length fiction. Interpreting short stories is like solving a crossword puzzle, but with a much more satisfying and . . . and mind-nurturing outcome.

You: Mind-nurturing?

Me: Did I say something wrong?

You: No. I like that description.

Me: I don’t remember where it’s from. Anyway, I’d love to read all kinds of fiction every day if I could . . . if only I could process what I read faster. I also like reading about books or writers in those eighty-four-thousand-page encyclopedias and watching television programs about them. It’s like discovering useful . . . um, useful, I mean, the side notes on book pages.

You: Marginalia?

Me: Yes. Marginalia.

You: Gregory, as I see it, your curiosity prevails over the difficulties.

Me: Thank you. I also forgot to mention the migraines I get when I read—probably from rereading the same sentence over and over.

You: Yes, I remember—you mentioned the migraines when you were eight or nine. Look, you should do whatever works best for you and avoid straining yourself—

Dr. Egan: Gregory, let me interrupt you here.

Gregory: Sure.

Dr. Egan: Has it gotten any better since we had that conversation?

Gregory: I still try to read as much fiction as I can—but, no, not really. Now the internet is my new million-page encyclopedia though.

Dr. Egan: Same here. It’s such a great tool for learning about the world, isn’t it?

Gregory: It is. But I hope books will always stay in print.

Dr. Egan: Why? Are you worried about the publishing industry?

Gregory: That too.

Dr. Egan: I’ll say it again: stick with whatever method works best for you and feeds your curiosity beast. I wanted to follow in my mom’s footsteps and become a marine biologist, but I had a hard time with some of the subjects required for the profession. So I gave up on that idea—much to my mom’s disappointment.

Gregory: You know, every time I visit your office, I can’t help but marvel at that diving helmet Cousteau gave your mom. I wonder how much beauty it has witnessed beneath the ocean’s skin. I always wanted to ask—did she ever take you on one of their expeditions?

Dr. Egan: Oh yes—several times. The first time was when I was seventeen. I still remember it so vividly. He gave me a diving helmet at the end of my first exploration with the crew as well. Words cannot capture the excitement I felt that day. I couldn’t sleep for days, incessantly marveling at the helmet.

Gregory: I can see why. What happened to your helmet, or is this the one?

Dr. Egan: No, this is my mom’s. How many literary genres have you managed to fit on your bookshelves?

Gregory: Let’s see . . . I have classics, history, nonfiction, poetry, literary fiction, philosophy, and detective fiction.

Dr. Egan: That’s a lot of books.

Gregory: Well, not really. I don’t have a large selection of each, but I do take special orders.

Dr. Egan: I’ll definitely keep that in mind.

Gregory: I’ll make sure to give you the manager’s discount.

Dr. Egan: I appreciate it. Okay, well, it’s great seeing you upbeat and full of energy.

Gregory: Thank you. I’ll see you soon, then.

Dr. Egan: See you soon.

 

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Dr. Egan: Gregory.

Gregory: Yes?

Dr. Egan: Your jacket.

Gregory: Oh, thanks.

Dr. Egan: Take care.