Bookworm

Chapter 1

         Shortly after my eleventh birthday, in late July of 2708, I found the books. Two weeks earlier my great, great, great, great grandfather had quietly passed away in his sleep, leaving behind a slew of old possessions somewhat staggering to someone from my virtual reality generation. His death was hardly unexpected since he was 307 years old and for some years back had refused to go in for yearly renewal treatments. In fact he had been among the first to begin experimenting with renewal treatments and so was one of the oldest people living. Scientists and doctors were all confident that it was now possible for people to live almost indefinitely, but no amount of persuading convinced him. He quit taking the renewal treatments and that was that. He kept saying something about God being the giver and taker of life, which of course didn’t make any sense. And so we were all gathered at the old farmhouse to sort out his things and send them to the museum. Everything was so out of date that really that was the only place to send them.
         “Aiyayai! Can you believe this mess. How could Gramps exist in this prehistoric rat hole?!” My grandmother, a raven haired super model, had always had a great horror for anything not up to the minute. My mother and great grandmother, the two other members of this clean up crew just shook their heads in wonder.
         “Well, let’s hit it squad or we’ll be here all night. It’s gonna take forever to move all this real stuff. For the life of me I can’t understand why Gramps wouldn’t switch to virtuality like the rest of the world.” My mother sounded quite exasperated as she directed her virtual companion to open a trash portal for the junk that no one could possibly want.
         Grandma and great grandma began directing their companions in loading the more valuable pieces on the museum space ship. I quietly crept away to Gramps’ study to explore.
         I had always loved Gramps’ house. There was something about it that was so different. Maybe it was because everything was real and stayed the same in contrast to the virtual furniture and decorations that my mother daily conjured up at our house. Or maybe it was just that Gramps himself was so real. He always had time for me. Sometimes we would just sit in the old fashioned rockers on his front porch and talk for hours. No one else I knew did that sort of thing.
         Once in the study my attention wasn’t caught by the antique brown leather furniture or the out of date in wall video screen or even the fascinating old “computer” that actually had buttons and keys you had to press, but by the simple non-descript door in the corner. It was the door to Gramps’ storage room.
         Only Gramps ever went in that room and he had coded the door to only open to a certain phrase. The door always reminded me of those classic films with hilarious old technology. You actually had to speak to the door for it to open, rather than just being recognized when near it. About three weeks before his death, Gramps had entrusted me with the code phrase and told me that the contents of the room were mine. He had written up some strange document called a will that legally left everything in the storeroom to me. I had never heard of such a thing before. But then I didn’t know any one else with real things either.
         “For God so loved the world,” I spoke the incomprehensible phrase and held my breath as the wood paneled door silently slid open. Tears pricked my eyes as I tiptoed across the threshold. This was gramps secret place. For a moment I could even catch his scent again and remember those wondrous moments when he used to throw his arms around me and swing me up in what he called a “bear hug.” Before that I had never realized that a real hug could be so different from a virtual.
         I released my breath, whisked the tears away and focused on the small room. And there they were. Shelf upon shelf of books. Books of all sizes and colors, all fragile and antique, but dust free. I had never seen anything like it. Oh, of course I’d been to the museum on a recent school trip and seen the display of a “library” with some books, but never had I seen so many or stood so close. In awe I stretched out a hand to the shelf nearest me and let my fingers run across the spines. My heart skipped a beat and my fingers tingled from wonder. Amazing!
         I had just mastered the concept of reading in school the year before, more because the subject fascinated me than because anyone felt it necessary. And so, there in that quiet little library I gingerly drew a random book from the shelf, seated myself in the ratty looking, but comfy armchair in the center of the room and for the first time in my life opened the cover of a book and began to read.