I love books.
In my house growing up there was a massive metal desk in a corner of the basement. It was always cold and unwelcoming so instead of being a place of study, it became a graveyard of forgotten papers.
One Saturday morning, I was close to 12 years-old then, I didn’t see the desk as something to avoid, but as a brilliant opportunity. I stood there with my hands on my hips facing the metal monster formulating a plan and making a mental list of supplies: lamp, couch cushions, snacks, water, blankets, pillows – lots of pillows, and a book. I was making a fort. Not just any fort though. It was going to be a secret and camouflaged fort where I could hide away to read my book uninterrupted by my parents or by my four siblings.
With my decision made, I set out to gather everything without arousing suspicion. If anyone guessed what I was up to, my plan would collapse. So, after I made sure the basement was deserted, I quickly made a nest of couch cushions, and pillows under the desk. Then I draped a heavy blanket over the opening and pushed some boxes closer to disguise my fort’s entrance. I crawled into my hidden room to test its comfy-ness and to set up the reading lamp I acquired.
Once I was satisfied with my little hide away, I listened for any sounds that would alert me to family members in the vicinity. When everything was quite I made my way through the blanket door and quickly stood up acting like it was the most normal thing in the world to be standing alone in the basement.
A few sneaky minutes later I was back in the belly of the beast with food, water and my book. I was confident I could conformably stay hidden all day and have a glorious day completely full of reading.
Later that afternoon I crawled out of my lovely, stuffy reading nook with a finished book and a wily grin. I walked up to my mom and she did a double take, “Where have you been all day?!”
“Oh, I was just reading.”
I love books.