This morning, I dropped Mr. W off at work, then drove his car to get an oil change. I brought along a 815-page hardback cover book, Lin Yutang’s Moment in Peking: A Chinese Novel. My mom had read it in its Chinese translation, then loaned it to my aunt Jessica, and they both have been looking for it in its original English to get me and my cousins to read it. After years of searching, my mom found this ratty well-loved copy from an online bookstore that exchanged used and out-of-print books. My mom also printed out a 3-page Wikipedia quick-biography on the author and put it in the book. (I honestly don’t know when my mom got so internet-savvy.) This was back in October, and she’d been asking me during my weekly visits whether I’d read the book yet. My answer was always a sheepish no.

Truth is, it’s hard for me to crack open a Chinese historic novel because it makes me feel guilty that I haven’t written one. Plus, I haven’t read a book for months, not since I read, for no good reason, three or four women’s erotica short-story collections within a few weeks’ time. I actually do miss reading. I miss the excitement I used to feel as a 10-year-old entering a library and seeing the shelves and shelves of great stories just waiting for me to bring them to life, to dance within my imagination.

Being stranded as a car went through servicing, while being on vacation from work, I have run out of excuses. I hugged the heavy volume to my chest, walked into the little waiting office, selected a chair, and settled in to read. What caught my eye before even opening my book, however, was a current Premiere magazine with Will Smith on the cover. It was an interview about his new movie, Pursuit of Happyness, which I really want to see. So I picked that up. It’s a 2-3 page article, shouldn’t take me too long to go through before I cracked open the serious novel. Half a page into the article, I saw a tow truck driving up outside the window. I saw a teal bumper of the car being towed. I thought about how it looked like my high school friend Edgar’s high school car. And then I saw Edgar’s mom come out of the towtruck. Oh no! I walked outside to see if everyone was all right. I hadn’t seen Edgar’s parents for years. After the usual greetings and comments of how I’ve grown, and the ubiquitous critiques and reviews of how I look now with respect to my skin, my hair, my makeup, and of course, my weight, I found out that there was no accident. The “check engine” light had gone on, so rather than risk breakdown, Edgar’s mom simply had the car towed in to the shop. About 15 minutes later, they left. I went back to the article. And then the mechanic came back with the car keys and a bill.

Oh well. I guess I’ll have to find another opportunity to crack open the book. Right now it’s resting under my left elbow as I type like an armrest. It is a useful little book.