Chapter One: The Coffee Shop Incident
Hazel lived in two worlds.
Every morning she pushed back her bed clothes and stepped into her flat, black and white world. In this world, each chapter began and ended predictably. Each page turned painfully slowly.
But Hazel had long ago fallen upon an opening in that wall of boredom. A door which led everywhere and anywhere she wanted.
She remembered, the days before she could even read that books had put a hook in her. At three, she thought nothing could surpass an illustrated book. And then she deciphered the age-old grown-up code of the written word and the letters and sentences became seeds in the soil of her green imagination. Color came. Depth came. And the sun came out.
But today this was all to end.
Today was the day her parents put an end to this all.
Hazel had become used to the background nagging noise of her parents yelling at her to put her book down. To listen. To pay attention. To eat dinner.
She never understood why her parents constantly complained about repeating themselves. If they were saying something important, then surely repeating it was just as important as saying it once. (Although she knew that the vast majority of what her parents said to her was not that important. It was mostly about telling her to do things she was going to do anyway, but just not at grown-up speed.)
The day when things crashed was a Tuesday. Hazel was standing in line with her mother at the local coffee shop. This was the moment when everything came to a head when her two worlds collided. One of her worlds was about to be extinguished forever.
Now it is true, Hazel enjoyed a good book. That is not a crime. Not a crime that any adult would admit to. In fact other adults were constantly lavishing her mom and dad with praise. “Oh, Hazel is such a good reader. Oh, look at her, you are so lucky. She’s so good.” Many parents would die for such admiration. Hazel was especially praised by parents who had 8-year old boys. Boys seemed to have trouble sitting still long enough to get into a good book.
Sure, there were times when reading was not appropriate. While it is possible to read and walk, even on a sidewalk teeming with pedestrians, using your finger to keep a line, reading while crossing a road was understandably forbidden. Although if Hazel were allowed to debate this most un-debatable contest, she would argue that crossing the road did not necessarily need to interrupt a good storyline. You can keep your ears open to that bleeping thingy that make a noise when it’s time to cross and there’s really little danger. However, even Hazel understood, that this was not the strongest card to pull on her parents, and so she kept this argument for moments when she and her friends would gather to complain about their parents.
Sure, when you’re supposed to be eating, you shouldn’t read a book. We all need to eat. But reading never stopped anyone digesting. Really.
Hazel would read anything and everything. There were those rare moments in her life when no book was at hand. Then she would read non-book stuff. Her eyes would scan for letters in unusual spots. Like public restrooms. She knew all of Oakland’s different laws of sanitation by 6. By 8, she knew the sanitation laws of just about every city her parents had dragged her to. But usually when visiting a public restroom she would have a book under her coat or sweater. Why waste a moment peeing when you could be educating yourself? And yes, she’d wash her hands before and after turning a page. She’s wasn’t crazy.
And then Tuesday came. The coffee shop incident that sent everything into the current crisis she now found herself in.
Her parents described it as the straw that broke the camel’s back. An analogy which makes no sense whatsoever and another reason to be wary of the wisdom of adults. Anyway, you could say that it was that one coffee house worker who ruined everything. The hippy girl with the jingly-jangly bracelets and the braids that make her look like she’s in 3rd grade.
Hazel’s mom was ordering her usual triple shot, no foam, no caffeine, no something or other and she turned to Hazel and apparently asked her (in her indoor voice) several times what pastry she wanted, before giving up and yelling,
“Stop reading NOW!” It must’ve been loud because everything else went quiet, like during school lunch when someone drops a plate. Hazel looked up from her book and thought, wow, this doesn’t looked good for mum.
1. She yelled in public. 2. Hazel simply looked sweet and innocent, reading her book. And 3. Apparently other folks misheard her mom.
So the hippy dippy lady, who is very nice, sternly scolded Hazel’s mom, “you can’t tell her to stop breathing, she’s a child!”
Every morning she pushed back her bed clothes and stepped into her flat, black and white world. In this world, each chapter began and ended predictably. Each page turned painfully slowly.
But Hazel had long ago fallen upon an opening in that wall of boredom. A door which led everywhere and anywhere she wanted.
She remembered, the days before she could even read that books had put a hook in her. At three, she thought nothing could surpass an illustrated book. And then she deciphered the age-old grown-up code of the written word and the letters and sentences became seeds in the soil of her green imagination. Color came. Depth came. And the sun came out.
But today this was all to end.
Today was the day her parents put an end to this all.
Hazel had become used to the background nagging noise of her parents yelling at her to put her book down. To listen. To pay attention. To eat dinner.
She never understood why her parents constantly complained about repeating themselves. If they were saying something important, then surely repeating it was just as important as saying it once. (Although she knew that the vast majority of what her parents said to her was not that important. It was mostly about telling her to do things she was going to do anyway, but just not at grown-up speed.)
The day when things crashed was a Tuesday. Hazel was standing in line with her mother at the local coffee shop. This was the moment when everything came to a head when her two worlds collided. One of her worlds was about to be extinguished forever.
Now it is true, Hazel enjoyed a good book. That is not a crime. Not a crime that any adult would admit to. In fact other adults were constantly lavishing her mom and dad with praise. “Oh, Hazel is such a good reader. Oh, look at her, you are so lucky. She’s so good.” Many parents would die for such admiration. Hazel was especially praised by parents who had 8-year old boys. Boys seemed to have trouble sitting still long enough to get into a good book.
Sure, there were times when reading was not appropriate. While it is possible to read and walk, even on a sidewalk teeming with pedestrians, using your finger to keep a line, reading while crossing a road was understandably forbidden. Although if Hazel were allowed to debate this most un-debatable contest, she would argue that crossing the road did not necessarily need to interrupt a good storyline. You can keep your ears open to that bleeping thingy that make a noise when it’s time to cross and there’s really little danger. However, even Hazel understood, that this was not the strongest card to pull on her parents, and so she kept this argument for moments when she and her friends would gather to complain about their parents.
Sure, when you’re supposed to be eating, you shouldn’t read a book. We all need to eat. But reading never stopped anyone digesting. Really.
Hazel would read anything and everything. There were those rare moments in her life when no book was at hand. Then she would read non-book stuff. Her eyes would scan for letters in unusual spots. Like public restrooms. She knew all of Oakland’s different laws of sanitation by 6. By 8, she knew the sanitation laws of just about every city her parents had dragged her to. But usually when visiting a public restroom she would have a book under her coat or sweater. Why waste a moment peeing when you could be educating yourself? And yes, she’d wash her hands before and after turning a page. She’s wasn’t crazy.
And then Tuesday came. The coffee shop incident that sent everything into the current crisis she now found herself in.
Her parents described it as the straw that broke the camel’s back. An analogy which makes no sense whatsoever and another reason to be wary of the wisdom of adults. Anyway, you could say that it was that one coffee house worker who ruined everything. The hippy girl with the jingly-jangly bracelets and the braids that make her look like she’s in 3rd grade.
Hazel’s mom was ordering her usual triple shot, no foam, no caffeine, no something or other and she turned to Hazel and apparently asked her (in her indoor voice) several times what pastry she wanted, before giving up and yelling,
“Stop reading NOW!” It must’ve been loud because everything else went quiet, like during school lunch when someone drops a plate. Hazel looked up from her book and thought, wow, this doesn’t looked good for mum.
1. She yelled in public. 2. Hazel simply looked sweet and innocent, reading her book. And 3. Apparently other folks misheard her mom.
So the hippy dippy lady, who is very nice, sternly scolded Hazel’s mom, “you can’t tell her to stop breathing, she’s a child!”
That didn’t make much sense either, but at least a grown up was taking Hazel’s side, for the first time in 8 years.
Hazel's wide grin probably made things worse as she looked up and read the loudly silent rage that made her mom's eyes almost pop out. Hazel knew the second she crossed the coffee shop threshold that she was gonna be knee-deep in very big trouble. Resisting the tug of her mom's hand wasn't gonna save her, but it was all she could think to do.
Today was about to be the worst day of Hazel's life.
