By Skipper Mary
Never published anywhere before here
INCIDENT #1
Minneapolis—In 1985 I was a young mother feeling rather lost when a friend gave me a copy of White Noise. I read it and the world of fiction opened and I realized I wasn't alone, figuratively of course, in modern America.
This Christmas I gave that copy I had lent out to many people, now dog-eared, yellowed and stained here and there with Lord-knows-what, to daughter Ellie, now 25-years-old, who took it on the train headed way down south.
On to the White Noise, Minnesota style:
In 1994 Ellie was in the grades and we were in Minneapolis for a conference, staying downtown on the Nicolett Mall. The hotel had a swimming pool and she wanted to swim and had her suit but the water was so heavily chlorinated, as in I felt I was going to pass out when stepping into the pool room, that I wanted her to wear swim goggles. There was a glowing department store aways down the street and we headed for it. When passing the big Barnes and Noble Ellie and I wanted to check it out so Jeff said he would continue on for the goggles.
Ellie headed to Children's and I to Poetry, where I found a couple books. She showed up with the boxed set of Narnia, hardcover, and I thought, What the hell, we're back from China, making money, okay.
So were were standing in one of maybe 10 checkout lines and I paid, then we left with me carrying the books in a sturdy large paper bag with handles. As we exited the store an alarm sounded and we stopped and turned to see a clerk running toward us.
She was flustered and asked me to hand her the bag, which I did, and which she went through. Then she asked for my receipt and wouldn't you know I was wearing a winter coat over a jacket that also had pockets, and there were the pockets in my jeans and oh yes, there was my purse and gosh that store was brightly lit. But the clerk was patient as I continued my fishing expedition. Then she took our paperwork and left.
"Mom," said Eleanor, "everybody's looking at us." I looked up to see the checkout lines had frozen with our drama. This, after a year in the People's Republic were we had had zero authoritative trouble. In fact, other than the airport, the only time we were asked for papers was on a train, and it turned out that cop was just curious about our deal and ended up giving us carved jade pendants.
Anyway, the clerk returned and handed the receipt to me, explaining, "The Children's scanner is acting up, you're all set."
I looked at her. I looked at Ellie. I looked at the bag of books.
"I'm not carrying them out of here."
"Why not?" asked the clerk.
Now, my reasoning seemed obvious to me but I didn't want to explain. "All I know is I'm not carrying them out and neither is my daughter."
"Do you want me to carry them out?" the clerk asked, incredulously.
"I don't care, all I know is we aren't."
She shrugged her shoulders, picked up the bag and led us out of the store and into the snow.
Jeff appeared, reporting there were no goggles. I showed him our purchases and he said we already had those poetry books, which is why I probably wanted them. I explained what had happened in B&N so he offered (what a wonderful guy) to return the poetry.
He reappeared with the refund having experienced no problems, and I felt we were rich.
Strolling toward the hotel we passed James & Mary Laurie Booksellers and, what the heck, decided to go in. A man was sitting at the counter; the place had the feel of worn and warm and I felt the need for a hit of White Noise so we went to D Fiction and found one with shadow lettering surrounded by white space, 1st edition, hardcover, $50 and Jeff said, "Get it."
As the bookseller wrapped this amazing thing, I related our experience at B&N and asked, "What do you have for security?"
He pointed to under the desk and said, "A shotgun."
INCIDENT #2
Fish Creek—Connie and I were docked on the wall in Fish Creek and as she slept I went on a walk down to where the road ends at the bay, then stopped in a downtown clothing shop to ask for the whereabouts of a gas station. Was told it was a mile or two up the hill so I headed up the two-lane's shoulder, telling myself it felt good.
Once on the high ground I met a man wearing an orange vest. He was standing in front of a building directing traffic for some event and I stopped and asked him how much farther was the gas station.
"It's pretty far," he said. "Need a ride?"
"You got one?"
"No. I'm busy, but there's plenty of people here who will help you out."
I told him I'd make it and kept walking.
Oh, right, White Noise.
I stopped by the bookstore on the hill, Peninsula Bookmen, so happy to discover an indie. Entering the store I wandered around with a few other customers, getting a sense of the shop's layout. A man approached me, asking if I was looking for something in particular.
"White Noise," I said.
He led me to DeLillo and there were a few of his novels including the massive, 827-page Underworld, beginning with a baseball game, which I also gave to Ellie for her 25th. Underworld was the book I was reading in 1997 when my father, Reino, died, and I put it down for 10 years, finally finishing it in 2007. For some reason I hope she gets through it sooner.
Checking out Underworld, the subject of White Noise came up and I offered, "I collect them."
The bookseller stopped his work and looked at me. "Why?"
Hmmm. Wasn't it obvious? Hmmmm. I'm not a book collector per so ...uh....hmmmm....Huh? Um......
I finally said, "I just do," then headed down the hill and back to the harbor where the wind was picking up. 