Yesterday, I began reading We Don’t Live Here Anymore by Andre Dubus.
I bought it at a second-hand bookstore I go to on my way home.
Someone has underlined some of the passages in it.
“They have that sad, pensive look that married women get after a few years. Her eyes used to be merry.”
“It is possible he wanted him to catch her; you have to keep that in mind when you’re making love with a man’s wife.”
“You ought to be knocking my teeth out now. But not you. You want to watch us.”
“I care about you. It’s monogamy I don’t care about.”
And it goes on.
At first, the passages appear in brackets.
After a while, the passages are underlined.
Then letters start to appear next to them.
Some passages are marked ‘E.’ Some are marked ‘Y.’
The underlining also gets more pronounced. Some phrases are underlined so many times they gouge the page and the ink bleeds through the other side.
Seeing these marks, I feel like I've walked in on a private conversation and the room has gone silent and now - now they’re staring at me.
The back cover has a single scrawl:
“You’ll not forget.”