We have banded together in protest of your ill treatment. We do not enjoy living in boxes, much less boxes in the basement under the stairs. And if you think it was an improvement to shove one box underneath the old TV, you are mistaken.
We hear you sitting there in front of that TV with your bottle of beer and your potato chips. We hear Danielle walk by us on her way to the laundry room and she often pauses, sighs and runs a hand along the outside of our Rubbermaid dungeon. She misses us.
And just so you know, most of us have been around longer than you have. Some of us have been with Danielle since she was a child—years before that play you did together, years before she liked boys at all. Danielle did have her first kiss at age 3, but for sure, Go, Dog. Go! was around before that. Maybe Pollyanna and Watership Down too.
Regardless, the Narnia box set, the Green Gables books and all the Helen Forresters and Judy Blumes knew Danielle long before you. Go Ask Alice, the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen helped her through sixth and seventh grade with braces and changing schools and that little boyfriend who kissed her four times on the lips plus twice on the cheek and kept breaking up with her in between. On The Road and The Unbearable Lightness of Being sunbathed with Danielle in the south of France when she was sixteen. Shakespeare has been with her before she even realized he spoke English and don’t give us your speech about working at Stratford, Mr. Actor—we don’t care.
Not only are we out of order, but Jitterbug Perfume and Tigana (which you and Danielle read together on your honeymoon!) are squished at the very bottom and under daily attack by spiders. Your rusty screwdriver (rusty from under-use!) is on top of Alice Walker and Marion Zimmer Bradley. And the videos! Ann-Marie Macdonald has a sense of humor but Virginia Woolf is affronted every morning when she wakes up next to Buns of Steel. Show some respect.
To sum up, you are an upstart. We have tolerated being moved to that first apartment, then to the condo, then to another house, where we thought we’d stay. We liked the built-in shelves there. Then you moved us again. You promised Danielle you would keep us dry and clean, but you stacked us, willy-nilly, on top of that ugly old bar in the basement, and threw a sheet over us. It was dusty, damp and the sheet fell off. Mouse poop fell on us and the renovation took much longer than three weeks. We had a year of freedom and then six months ago you started another project and here we are in the basement again.
Remember Harry Potter and all that befell those muggles who kept him under their stairs. Release us and restore us to our proper place. We are Danielle’s books and woe betide the man (or woman, of course) who disregards our power…
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