Probably about 15 years ago, my mom lent me a book called The Free Fall of Webster Cummings, written by Tom Bodett. We had a similar taste in books, and we lent to each other often. She was never one to hyperbolize anything, so when she said The Free Fall of Webster Cummings might just be one of her new favorite books, I figured I’d like it.
I started it the book shortly after she gave it to me, around the same time I started another semester of school. I read half a chapter, lost interest, and put it away. And anyway, trying to read for pleasure while you’re in school is a futile effort. I chalked the book up as one of the very rare reads we wouldn’t agree to love together.
About a week and a half ago, I was browsing my own library and rediscovered it sitting there. I plucked it back down from the bookshelf and dove in.
In a month, the earth will have traveled around the sun twice since my mom passed. There are things you might miss about someone, and you might not even know you miss it until much later. I miss trading books with her. A small thing we used to do, but somehow in this moment, I feel so so melancholy that I can’t do that small thing again with her. What I wouldn’t give to call her and talk about Ed Flannigan, Lloyd and Evelyn, Oliver, Buddy, Zowat, the Bedinger-Hooples, Deidre and Anthony, and all the other quirky characters in this captivating little book that I haven’t been able to put down for over a week. The one she suggested to me well over a decade ago. The one she told me might just be one of her favorite books. The one which just made it onto my favorites list.