- 3 weeks ago
- 2 months ago
(Summer Trilogy by Jenny Han)
I remember when I first saw the book. I just knew I had to get it. This feeling inside me, when I looked at it, made me need it. Being a person who judges a book by its cover, some people find it a little odd that I would choose a book with such a simple cover. But simple is what I love. As Jojo sung, “Simple things is what my heart beats for.” That is exactly how I feel. Sure, sometimes I like things that aren’t so simple and are more than actually needed, but hey. That’s normal.
With all three books, every page just made me so emotional. I’d be happy and sad and angry. I’d get confused. Irritated. Shocked. When I was happy, I could feel my smile, wide and eager. I would imagine my eyes shining with light because that’s how it felt. When I’d be upset or angry, or even just super excited, I’d fight hard to hold back the tears. I’d slam the book shut or turn it over. Then a few moments later, I would slowly open it up again and re-read the part that made me feel that way, and then I’d close it again. I’d replay the moment and the words my head, and when I was relaxed enough, I’d continue reading. And then it’d happen all over again.
When I read these books, I would become Belly. The world around me didn’t exist. It was my time. It was my other life. I lived through the books as her. I lived the moments with each of them. Steven, Jeremiah, Conrad, Laure, Sussannah, Taylor. Everyone. When I was reading the book, no one and nothing but the book could make me upset or drain my energy away. And even then, I was still so happy. Just because I was reading the book.
I remember when I was reading it for the first time. I was introduced to a world that felt right to me. It just fit. Like I should be living in the book. Really actually living the moments with them. As her. When I finished book one, I read it over and over and over again. I couldn’t get enough. And I still can’t. I wished for there to be more.
When I found out there was a second and third book, I ran out and got them. I started the second book right away. I read the first chapter, all the feelings rushing back to me. And then… I forbade myself from reading the rest of it. I couldn’t take it. I didn’t want it to continue. I didn’t have the strength to know more. And that was it. Tucked away on a shelf and locked away in my memory.
Just this month, a classmate asked me what book was good to read. And I remembered. The feelings came back again. I told her how it was amazing. How much I’d loved it. And I told her I’d bring it for her and wrote the word ‘Book’ on different parts of my hand and arm to remember to bring it with me.
I went into my room that day, walked over to my bookself and found it. There it was. ‘The Summer I Turned Pretty’. I moved my hand over its familiar blue flowery cover and I held it close. I felt like home, a home I had let fade away. And now, happiness was right there in my hands again.
I gave it to her the next day, and she would read it every now and then. Whenever she took breaks, I’d pick it up and smile and read through its familiar pages. I missed it. I missed them. So much.
Two days ago, Monday, I was laying down in bed ready to sleep. But sleep didn’t come. I turned and moved my pillows around. I picked up my phone a few times to check the time. Nope. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I left it this way. At last, I sat up. I looked over at my bookself, debating whether or not I should. Then I stood up, turned on the lights and walked over to it. I started from the top self, thinking that’s where it’d be. As I made my way down, lower and lower, I started to worry. What if I lost it? What if I moved it somewhere and never brought it back? Did I lend it to someone and forget? As the worry built up, I found it. Hidden all the way at the bottom behind a couple other books, there it stood. I pulled it out and held it in my hands again, after all this time. I stared at the cover for a while. ‘It’s Not Summer Without You’. It really wasn’t. I should have read it during summer, so that I could read it again and again all through the night and day time.
I put it on top of my desk and before I went back to bed, I looked at the book and said, “I’m going to read you this time. I promise I will do it.”
I started yesterday morning and finished it up all in less than a day. Even with all the sad moments it had, I was happy. Truly happy and smiling a real happy smile. It was a feeling I can’t remember having for a long while. Reading the story I loved, it made me this way.
At night, I pulled out the last book, ‘We’ll Always Have Summer’ and placed it on my desk. I wanted to stop. I didn’t want to read it, because then it would be over. I had this feeling all the way through until I finished it.
Now, it’s done. It’s all done. If I read it again, I know I’ll smile and cry and giggle in all the same moments as I did the first time I read them. But I know the ending. And that won’t change. That will never change.
I don’t even know if I want it to change. Maybe I like the way it ended. I’m not sure.
I don’t think I will ever be able to make the choice though. Even if Belly did. I don’t want to. This was the only moment that I didn’t feel like Belly. Because I don’t like making a choice like this.
The thing that I am sure of though, is that I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want a decision, a choice, to be made.
I want it to last forever. I want it to… To go on for infinity.