Trial by orator.
7.14.18 – Semi-semantic
The dictionary was done with, left tattered and in the trash to maybe find recycling as a papier-mâché project. I hadn’t really read it much at all and still it was suffering from a life of too much turning and had often been subject to sear by open windows where sun and wind might reach in to take a bite. Pages had been fleeing its binding since before I inherited it, shuffling off and scattering themselves to some other necessary corner of the library. I thought it was no better than a hygienist’s nightmare, yellowish entries, many cracked and battered, others wholly missing from that large mouth. Perhaps I’d peered in once or twice but found all those remaining rows scary and the depth behind it all was daunting.
I hoped we had enough to carry on without it, some strict lessons made from improvisation and bumping into others. We had concurrent projects both in building and destruction with vocabulary not taking front and center when it might have made sense. I had lists of question that only grew when we crashed into exemplary usage but placed in poor content. I heard the sounds well before I caught their meaning wondering even if they were meant to be sourced in that way. You and I might have tried; we struggled through it, em-dashing our way around like we were making too many turns in a maze and trying to keep track of our starting point. It made the problem compound, like we were stringing together a desperate run-on and thinking that it could have some sensibility once we made it back to a period.
Commands weren’t adequate and we’d been using that tome as a booster seat without cracking the cover; somehow it always became taller when opened. I liked the thought of slinking in between its lines, but wondered if I’d grown too old to bend back between those rows. The dog ears were enticing, and soon I’d find a scratch wherever I could reach.