A new Comrade

For six months I thought Bobbi is a man. Bobbi turns out to be a tiny red head woman who has the sweetest smile. She's a book store worker at the UBC. She's also an amazing book reviewer. I met her yesterday after selling my old textbooks. In December, she caught my eyes, she said, Blackbird is the wittiest book she’s read in awhile. I love this book. Stephen and Skye came to my house with dinner and their copy of Blackbird two Februaries ago. I was lonely and sad; and they knew the perfect way to cheer me. They were sweet and unselfish, unlike me, I would never offer a book with unbroken spine. But there they were in my doorstep, Skye carrying a picnic basket and Stephen holding Basilieres’s words in his hands.

I normally stopped at the bookstore between my Philosophy and Rhetoric class. I took stocks of all the books waiting for me. The concept of meeting Bobbi crossed my mind every time I read her recent review. Yet, each time I pushed this away. It was hard enough having to explain to my family why I stood outside Manila’s red light district waiting for Sionil Jose. I didn’t want to add stalking reviewers to my list.

Meeting her was accidental. I didn’t force it.

I got giddy talking to her. Meeting someone who loves the same kind of books is rare. Book lovers aren’t like music lovers. There aren’t enough of us around.