by ElliotPhaber

Created on: July 24, 2009   Last Updated: August 02, 2009

A Life Between the Lines

I met Sam years ago. At the time, I spent plenty of time at the local book store where I read anything that caught my interest. Like many girls, I read romance novels. I always loved the books with perfect beginnings and perfect endings, but I never knew that a perfect beginning walked into the store one day moments after I did. And that's when I saw him.

As I sat on the floor reading, I didn't notice him walk down the row of books passed me. He stopped a few feet away and started to look for a particular book. Moments later, he grabbed a book and sat down to read. I thought it was peculiar that any guy would pick a book from the romance section, but I continued to read without saying anything.

Every few moments, I would look over at him because I didn't believe he was actually reading. Suddenly, I recognized his choice as one I read some time ago. It stood out in my mind as the most depressing book I ever read. I marked a place in my own book, put it down, and turned toward him. You know that's a depressing book, right? It may even be the worst romance novel in the world.

He looked in my direction and frowned. Excuse me, miss. Are you insane? Quickly, he examined the cover of my book. If you want to talk about bad romance novels, then look at your pick. It's a clich.

As soon as he spoke, I became defensive. This stranger had just criticized my favorite piece of literature. For your information, I enjoy clichs. In your book, she walks out on him after they are together for five years. Five years!

Through much of the next hour, we argued the merits and flaws of each other's favorite romance novel. Neither of us would relent on our attack on the other's choice. Despite the intensity of our debate, I found myself enjoying the discussion. I found out more about him; he found out more about me. I thought about the possibility of continuing our little debate outside of the bookstore, but I let the idea slide out of my mind.

To my dismay, Sam eventually stood up, and I thought he was about to leave. Instead, he began to search for another book. He walked to another aisle of books and returned moments later. In his hand, he held a copy of 101 Best Romance Novels of All Time. Nonchalantly, he walked over to me, dropped the book in my lap, and began to walk toward the door.

Slowly, he turned around and spoke in the softest voice, Jessica, 'Faults or not, I will dance with fate and tango with the devil for your heart. If only

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