in like a lion
Wednesday, March 9, 2011 
Saturday I stomped through oceans of rain-soaked slush to get out of the suburbs and into a city neighborhood where the used bookstores overflow. We’d just had a monster surprise snowstorm a few days before, and then a day full of rain and springlike temperatures soon followed. I carried a gigantic yellow umbrella. One of my shoes was soaked through before I even left my own driveway. A little more than an hour later, my coat and bags were cast aside and I sat on the floor of the bookstore while I prowled the shelves. My little collection was enriched that day by more books than I expected, and I also found one particular prize.
I wrote earlier about this hobby of mine; it’s intimately tied to my memories of my mother, which is one reason I think the dusty shelves were calling to me at this time of year. When I saw Buck’s spine I pulled it out with a gasp and dropped a handful of other books just to open it up and look into it again. In the intervening years, I forgot that I used to own this one, and I’ve never seen it in any other place where these books are discussed and catalogued. The Avon Flare Competition published books written by young authors—Tamela Larimer was a student at Penn State when Buck was published and she grew up not far from where I did. I read this book to pieces when I was a kid, and to have a copy in my hands feels like my mother leaving it on my bed for me again.
I wonder if she would have done that if she’d known what happened in the book. Buck, an orphan who ran away rather than face the child welfare system, is a former drug pusher and child prostitute. He’s just getting ready to pry Rich’s car stereo from its dashboard when Rich finds him.
This kid—I could see now that it was a kid, a guy around my own age—jumped so high he hit his head on the roof. It’s a miracle he didn’t knock himself out, considering the impact of metal on his skull. I really startled him.
He leapt for the passenger door and threw himself hard against it. But the car in the next space had pulled too close. The door opened about four inches and then scraped the other car. And for some reason that made me madder than anything, this jerk scraping the paint like that.
Head thrown back, muscles tense, this kid plastered himself against the partly open windshield with these wide eyes. One hand clawed on the dashboard, and the other dug into the headrest. He looked like an animal, frozen beyond panic.
Rich and his family take Buck in, and high school society takes him in, too. Everyone loves Buck until that love starts to threaten the hierarchy of popularity that existed before he came. It’s such an unusual book compared to a lot of the ones I read back then. It has a downer ending, it’s written from a first-person male perspective, and, well—it’s not graphic, but some of the stuff Buck has gone through curdles the imagination. The writing is just as good throughout the book as that excerpt. Back then, to think that someone only a few years older than me had written a book like this was a powerful inspiration, even if the only writing I did back then is best hidden away in a Rubbermaid bin.
I packed the book carefully away in a lower layer of my bag, because the rain was still coming down and the top layer of books got wet no matter how I tried to angle my umbrella over them. I stopped at a few other stores on Wellington West before coming home with Art-is-In bread and a jar of pear-vanilla jam and a backpack full of other goodies. At the bus stop, cars drove too quickly through the flash-flooded streets and sent geysers into the air. By the time I got home, my jeans were soaked to the knees. Still, it was a good day, a better day than I hoped for when I set out. Any day I feel my mom is a good day.
Sunday’s sunset. We almost never get sunsets like this here. They were as lurid as a drag queen and as compelling.
Reader Comments (9)
I wish I could take you to our local used book store. It's called Mister Jack's Paperbacks and it's a credit based store. You purchase the books by swapping ones you bring in (or, of course, you can pay cash for them at a discounted price). Because of this, the books are in constant flux and there are always always "new" and wonderful books to peruse. It's the most jam-packed bookstore I've ever seen, and so cozy and home-like that it's not unsurprising to see people spread about the room, lounging on the floor completely in their element. I never leave there without at least several amazing gems.
All this to say that your day sounded absolutely blissful to me. <3
Wow. That book. So unlike the others you've mentioned.
Did I ever write about how my mother used to leave things for me in my room, too? Not out on my bed but under my pillow, secretly. Books and lip gloss and gum and hair things and love notes. I know I wrote about it at least once, awhile back. Oh my heart. (I think I need to stop right now. Gulp. Heh.)
Also, I am already so impatient for the "out like a lamb" part. Go out like a friggin' lamb already! Please! Gah.
Oh that was quite a find! Your mother would be so happy.
And GOODNESS. Pear-vanilla jam? What in the WORLD. Is is possible to swoon so hard over something you've never tasted?
Is Buck's secret that he's gay? Because he looks gay. Very gay. If he ISN'T gay, then he's missing out. I know lots of men who would like to get to know him.
Ahhhhh ... finding old books that you forgot you used to read is such a comfort!!
LOL @ Debbie's comment. I must concur. Look at that intense gaze and that tight, TIGHT shirt. Buck was a little bit of a hottie, wasn't he. But I doubt he was interested in ze laydeez.
Reading this brought back memories of books I used to pore over when I was younger. When we moved from the Isle of Man, a lot of them were lost in storage and turned up several years later in a shed in our back garden but had been ruined by water and mould. Still breaks my heart to think about it.
I'm glad you found this little slice of years gone by, Kim.
Oh how I can relate to this feeling! I still have so many of the books I use to read as a child but there are a few that have gone missing, I'm afraid. Every once in a while, I'll find a stray copy somewhere and that wonderful nostalgia will sweep over me as I grasp it in my hand. Here's to memories, old books and rediscovering them.
Brandi: Oh, man. That sounds wonderful. I have been in my share of hostile UBSs in my time, but most of them are such cozy, friendly places. And trade too! I've reached a point that I research UBSs whenever I'm traveling and they're part of the criteria when I'm thinking about where we might get away for a weekend.
Jeanette: That plucked my heartstrings. So, do you do something similar for your little one too? (Besides Tooth Fairy visits, I mean.) She *is* still too young for lip gloss, right? For another week or two at least? Also, I about shrieked when you said "out like a lamb" since we got another snow dumping overnight and now it's being glazed with some freezing rain. yay! And when I say "yay!" I'm sure you can hear that little desperate undertone in my font.
Heather: When I went to the store I thought of you and that blueberry butter you just wrote about, because this place has jars and tins of everything from everywhere in the world. It's where I used to get this Moroccan curry powder that would stop your heart. Anyway, it's glorious. I know I use that word too often but really. It's not quite a jam; it's more the consistency of applesauce, and it disappears on toasted bread. The flavor is so unexpected. It's almost floral. Now that we know jars of preserves can cross the border without fuss I'm going to have to pick some up for you the next time I'm on that side of town.
Debbie: Poor Buck. Or Buck-model. You remember this time! The book came out in '86, and so we were just three years after The Outsiders, the year of River Phoenix in Stand by Me, and just a year before Johnny Depp in "21 Jump Street." And, let's just be honest--Sha Na Na! There's no way childhood Me thought Sha Na Na were not the straightest of straight men. For me at twelve this look did not say Gay, because I guess I just saw "White T-Shirt" and read "Ponyboy." Today, I see the V-neck and the tight fit and I think "Gay," but I wouldn't have back then. I used to look at the cover a lot and wonder about it, because the guy looked way too old to be Buck and that the T-shirt was thin and cheap. And I somehow pictured Buck thinner and with longer hair, although reading it now I don't really see evidence of that. I'm okay with spoiling the book for you, and in addition to Buck's selling himself to all comers, there is a picture of him in an "underground" skin mag that contributes to the downer ending. The text itself never says that he was with men--maybe because of the YA target audience?--but I have a hard time imagining women paying for sex with underage boys.
Wow, we are going to get a lot of weird hits from this comment. Also, makes you wonder what the jock boy's dad is doing with an "underground" skin mag.
Noel: When I found it I couldn't believe I'd ever forgotten it. I loved this book so much. I really did read it to tatters. I'm wondering what else I read and loved that I've completely blanked on.
Stereo: Now, I'm not surprised you thought he was gay because you're much younger than I am. Were you even born yet in '86? In the book, Buck is quite the ladies' man. I was definitely naive at twelve and came from a rural environment, so I'll bet the first time or two I read this I definitely didn't even think he would have had male clients. I know that didn't occur to me until I reread it in high school. And OH. I am so sad for your box of books. When I went to college my mother passed mine along and unless they someday show up in a basement, I'm sure they're gone for good. She did it without asking, and didn't have any idea that they meant this much to me. When I go on the used-book hunt it's a huge charge for me to find a book that I owned when I was a kid.
Tracy: That's perfect--it is a sweeping wave of nostalgia. It's not just the story of the book, it's my mom bringing them home for me, or me lying on my stomach reading on my porch with popcorn at the ready. The way it looked when my eyes realized it was too dark to be reading and I'd have to turn a light on. Reading as a kid is so different from reading as an adult. What kind of books did you read back then?