A Child and Her Books
A love of escape.
I don’t remember exactly how old I was, maybe 7 or 8.
My mother had just bought a beautiful kitchen table and matching chairs. It was heavy and had a leaf insert that could make the circular shape into an oval if we had guests. The tabletop itself was a light summer oak color.
It had been in the house maybe a few months. One day my brother and I were coloring on the table while she did something or another, probably paying bills or reading a cookbook. All of a sudden she looked up and started yelling.
I was using a black sharpie on a single piece of white copy paper directly on the table. And yes, the sharpie bled and stained the brand new table. I had known better, otherwise she would not have let me use the sharpie in the first place.
She was furiously trying to clean it up but it would not come out. She started crying and asked me if I had $1,000 to replace it, then sent me to my room. I understood why she was upset; we didn’t have much at the time and this table was a very nice thing that had been ruined by carelessness.
When I got to my room I immediately pulled the plastic plug out of my Fisher Price piggy bank and started counting up all of my change. I had a pencil, some paper, and some very basic addition skills. I came up with $29 and some…
