She gave me a dictionary. There was a note in the front. That
was a private thing- I'll keep that to myself. Just know that it
meant a lot. Into my life came her words, then her voice,
and then the dictionary in her hand. It meant our lives now
have been physically entwined, but with a reminder that it
started with written words. I had wondered, would the
transition from one to the other go smoothly?
My last dictionary had been passed down from my Dad. It was at
least thirty years old, and had finally come apart at the
binding, into two chunks, with no cover, and then just
disappeared. That seemed appropriate. No one in our house
claimed to know where it had gone. I found one little
fragment of it- part of the explanation for the
pronunciation symbols. Even the little paperback dictionary
I had at work was falling apart, the one in which half the
words I looked up didn't appear. So this seemed right, a new
source for words in my life.
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