I distinctly remember going with my mom to work (she was a sometimes-data-processor when I was younger, and would work at night when there was no one else at the office. Going with mom to work was something my younger sister and I would fight over, this privilege of getting out of the house and Going Out) and bringing along a book with me to read. My favourite one had a silver cover and involved a sensitive painter guy and a shy, depressed woman — I think she had red hair on the cover (perhaps that started my obsession for red-heads? Just like the age-old conundrum regarding what's at the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop, the world may never know). I remember the description of a painting the man did of her frolicking in the surf on the beach with his black and white dog . . . how vividly I could see that painting, the clothes she was wearing, the sand sticking to the dry parts of her legs, the dog splashing around . . . .
I really hope I still have that book somewhere. I think her name was Bobbie.
Well, ever since coming to live with my soulmate, I've noticed a sharp increase in my psychic powers. I happened one day mid-December, 1996, to wander into the local Goodwill to see what could be found. As I was looking through the books I spotted several 'silver covered books' and I thought, Wouldn't it be cool to come across that book in a thrift store! Keep in mind that I couldn't remember either title or author. All I was going on was the picture on the cover of the book. I continued browsing through the books but decided it would be hopeless, and moved on.
I then went to the veteran's thrift shop next door. It was smaller
and more crowded, and by then the book thing had slipped my mind.
Until I actually got to the book section. I spotted a few silver
covers, but realized that it could take quite a while to dig for this
book. Book, I thought, if you are here, show yourself to me.
Within a matter of a minute or so, I swear to you, my eyes were drawn to a silver cover. My hand reached for it and picked it up. There, beaten up and water-stained, was a copy of Twice in a Lifetime by Rebecca Flanders. The book I had been hoping to find — there it was, as if it was waiting for me to find it. I could scarcely believe it (I am to this day still a little bit freaked out). ©1983. That would have made me 12 years old. It was a Harlequin American Romance, hence the silver cover. And for the price of one thin dime that book was mine.
Within the next few days I proceeded to read the book. As I turned each page, every aspect of the story came back to me. I realized that the 'heroine', a character I had so greatly identified with in 1983, was the age I was at the time: 26. That I had read this book a little more than half my lifetime ago. I saw all the things in the 'hero' that have become my essential criteria for friends and things I have found in spades in my partner. I realized another thing too: that Ms. Flanders' writing style greatly influenced my own.
The character's name was Bobbie, by the way.
