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 is the part I enjoy most . . . but it also 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. 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. I also add a few notes here and there—like the ones I scribbled on the tape and disc stickers. Whatever stuck in my memory from each session.

Dr. Egan: That all sounds like a good idea.

Gregory: Hm. 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 helmet at the end of my first exploration with the crew as well. Words cannot capture the excitement I felt that day.

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: 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.