Tonight I had to go back to the store after I was almost all the way home to take care of an alarm issue. I found myself on an outbound evening 41. This is not a usual bus for me. I got on at Hyde Street to a packed coach. After a couple of stops I managed to find a seat near the front. Across the aisle from me was an active young woman who was intently reading. The book she was reading was very thick and I noticed that she was coming up on the end of it. She had maybe 50 pages to go. The book was War and Peace.
I myself have not yet gotten around to tackling that particular classic. But I couldn't help marveling that she was reaching that most perfect time when a truly great book begins it's conclusion. Her face betrayed that very thing. Brows furrowed in a combination of empathy, horror and wonderment all at the same time. The fact is that what she was projecting at that moment was much deeper than anything I could describe.
The thing is I really didn't have to. I was wearing my new camera around my neck. It was powered on and set for an auto exposure right under my jacket. She was so engrossed in the Tolstoy that she may not have even noticed it. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to even possibly risk breaking that spell she was under. There is still that part of me that sees taking pictures as a form of stealing. And there is part of me that is still far more married to the written word.
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