The Address Book
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She sits at the desk writing a card; the words will be hard to decipher as she is old now and her handwriting is shaky. She reaches for the address book at the back of the drawer in the desk; it is old, the pages are worn, and several names have been scratched out. So many people gone, she thinks. So much time has passed . . . my history and theirs is in this little book. It has been with me all my life – well, almost. She has two such books; each of them filled with the names of people she has known over the years, in different cities and in different countries – people with whom she has promised to keep in touch. She does so religiously at every Christmas and whenever she remembers someone’s birthday. She thumbs through the pages in search of an address. There are so many names, so many people – so many lives . . . Yet, not for her are the pocket organizers so popular today; neither has she bothered to enter these names in the email contact list of her computer – many of whom she now sends emails to, as well. She likes the idea of an address book – she likes the feel of it in her hands. She thinks of it as old friend - one that has travelled with her and shared much of her life. She also feels this way about newspapers – she prefers to read the news in the comfort of an armchair with a cup of coffee by her side rather than sit at the desk reading it off the internet. She knows this is an old fashioned way of thinking, but so be it – this is who she is – this is what she enjoys. She sits turning the pages, pausing at each name to reminisce; her mind switches back to the time they met and wonders how they are doing . . . As she sits there, the afternoon light begins to fade and she is surprised to notice how dark it has become. When did I turn on the light, she wonders? She smiles – she knows she has been lost in the memories of things past. She sighs, and feeling a little sad, she picks up the pen to finish the task she had begun. Then, with the greatest of care, almost with reverence, she places her old friend, the address book, back in the drawer.
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