Pages and Ages

Twenty-five-year-old Max McReynolds walked into the small bookstore, The Book Buffet, every Saturday precisely at 9 am, once it opened.

The Book Buffet was the only small, business-owned bookstore for miles around, accepting and selling donated books. Max always arrived promptly when the store opened, and checked out the area for new donations every week, knowing he needed to keep buying as many books as cheaply as he could as he read books at an unquenchable pace. He loved to earmark pages, highlight or underline specific passages, bend the pages back in anticipation of the next words when he'd have interruptions, even accidentally spill food and drink inside the pages, showing each book that they were special and loved and well-used. The librarian had frowned each time he'd returned his books, threatening to charge him full price for each book next time he didn't return the books in pristine condition. Max knew he couldn't do what the librarian had asked. Needing to feel the pages, to allow his tears to hit the page as he cried during emotional parts, to allow him to rip some of the pages when the character maddened him, and to highlight the sayings he wanted to emphasize on the page and, in his mind, he quickly located the closest - and only - bookstore nearby.

Working an 8 to 5 job doing administrative duties, Max filled his commute to and from his job, breaks and lunch, and free time after work and on weekends by simply reading. The need to attend run errands or eat was quickly done as long as he could return to his one true love - books. Books allowed Max to escape the tedium of his humdrum life and break out of the confines of his workplace prison.  

Happy to have found The Book Buffet, Harold, the seventy-year-old something owner, emphasized that Max was his best customer.

"Got a new series in, young man," said Harold, as Max walked into the bookstore. "You should check it out. Looks like something you'd be interested in."

"I'm interested in almost everything," responded Max and they both chuckled.  

Walking over to the new donation shelf, Max fell in love immediately with a series of three thick books. Reading the cover of the first book, "The Fight to Home," Max flipped over the cover to find the book about a person who wakes up with amnesia as a five-year-old child on Earth to discover that she may be one of the keys to saving her home world on Jupiter.  Also, the books were in excellent condition, looking brand new, a rarity to find in a used bookstore.  He couldn't wait to break into the books, to feel the crisp paper as he bent the pages, underlined the passages, and absorbed their messages.

"I'll take them!" he exclaimed once he walked to the front to be checked out by the smiling Harold.

Beginning as soon as he got home with book one, he immersed himself in Star's start as a child on Earth, and her eventual adoptive parents' quizzical nature as to her arrival. Making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as he continued to read the book, he barely noticed when a dollop of jelly landed on the page, he emphasized meaningful words on the page with his yellow highlighter, crying when Star discovered she would need to leave all the people behind on Earth to return to Jupiter - or Earth would be destroyed. Finishing the first book by time he forced himself to go to bed at nearly midnight on Sunday night, Max was hooked.  It was hands-down the best series he had ever read.

Waking up at six o'clock in the morning, Max tiredly walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. He looked awful.  His eyes looked sunken, his usually dewy skin looked gloomy, and he seemed to have fresh wrinkles and deeper laugh lines.  

"Why do I look like I'm well into my thirties?" he shook his head as he laughed. He'd try to get more sleep tonight. Taking a quick shower, and changing into fresh clothes, Max decided to take another look at one of his favorite passages he had highlighted the previous day before he grabbed book two and left for work. However, the first book of the series appeared spotless. Flipping through the pages, he couldn't find any of the highlighted passages, the bent corners, even the jelly stain! The book looked brand new, exactly as he bought it.

"I must be going mad," he thought, as he grabbed book two to read on his way to work on the bus. 

If Max thought book one was good, book two was even better. Focusing on why Star's parents left her on Earth, Max shed tears as they realized they needed to give her up until their planet was strong enough to attack Earth. Their planet could never be strong enough until Star's special biological makeup mixed with Earth's atmosphere to give her special abilities. Getting off the bus and walking to his workplace, his knees creaked. And he felt a little more out of breath as he took the stairs up to the fourth floor.

"When did that happen?" he thought. And his hands looked more crepey, older somehow.  

"Can I help you?" Stephanie, the receptionist asked Max as he entered the building.

"Hey, Stephanie. It's me, Max."

"Max?!" she seemed shocked. "You look awful!"

"I didn't get much sleep this weekend," Max admitted. "I know, I do look awful."

"But your hair is going gray!  And you seriously look like you're forty? Are you sure you're okay? Wait, is this a joke? Are you using makeup? Halloween's not until next month, though," rambled Stephanie.

"Um, I better get inside before I'm late," he replied, suddenly anxious. As soon as he made it to his cubicle, he dropped his stuff onto his desk and beelined for the bathroom to look in the mirror.

Staring in the mirror, he realized he did look about forty years old. Even his hairline looked like it was starting to recede. And he had a frightening thought, could it be the books? The first book looked like it was flawless, although he had left the book in light ruins.

Running to his cubicle, he grabbed the second book. All the highlights he made from the time he read on the bus were now gone - and the book looked absolutely perfect once again.

"Are these books absorbing my youth?" he thought, terrified.

Getting permission from his supervisor to go back home, who agreed that Max did look sick and needed to go home for the rest of the day to relax, Max paced in his apartment. Looking at book one and book two, Max continued to note what spotless conditions they looked in.  Testing his theory, Max continued to read book two, noting which pages he bent and where he spilled the contents of his soda, and then, after twenty minutes, went to the restroom to look in the mirror, again.

More of his hair looked gray. And he just knew what he'd find when he returned to the book; all traces of the soda and wrinkle of the bent page were gone!

For the first time in ages, Max backed away from the books and laid on his bed, thinking, eventually falling asleep.

Upon waking the next day, Max called into work sick. Looking in the mirror, he found he had not aged anymore. And then he tried to watch TV but found it uninspired and slow. He tried running, but his body hurt, and his knees creaked. He felt confined going to work. He talked to his parents, but found them preoccupied and mediocre and eager to return to their lives.  What he hated the most was that he wanted to know what happened to Star and her planet and her parents. Was she going back to Jupiter? Would she leave the people who cared about her most behind? Would she ever get what he wanted out of her life? He had never read a book as captivating in adventure and romance and exploration and love as these books.

Calling in sick for the rest of the week, Max continued to read the books. Figuring he should live the rest of his life out on his terms, Max finished the rest of books two and three, reveling in Star's sacrifice and her commitment to keep both planets safe.

That Saturday, Max shuffled into The Book Buffet, his hair fully gray, his leg creaking, his body stiff with aches and pains, his face lined with wrinkles.

"Hello!," spoke Harold, welcoming him into the bookstore, not recognizing him. 

"All newly donated books to buy are in the back. And feel free to have a look around at our other marked sections for whatever you're looking for."

Max nodded and replied "Thank you," weakly as he tottered to the new donation area. Max knew he'd given up years, no decades, to read his favorite series. And he'd die a lot sooner than he'd expected, but was it worth it?

"Yes," he thought, as he picked out some new books, deciding he wanted to go out on his terms. Reading.