The Book

Pacing in the literature professor’s office, waiting.

Need to drop out because of finances.

Is there help? A scholarship or grant?

I start to read the titles on the bookshelf.

There it is! A signed first addition, worth thousands, at least.

Bound in red.

On a lower shelf, another book bound in red, not special. What luck.

Swapped them to see if he notices while we talk.

He says no hope. All scholarships and grants were awarded.

I leave but “forget” my bag.

After hours, everyone but the cleaners are gone, I return.

The cleaner lets me in because I say I left my bag earlier.

She starts to clean. I pick the bag up but “accidentally” drop it on the floor by the bookshelf.

The cleaner pays no attention. I slide the book into my bag and leave, saying thank you.

I savor the book for a few days, feeling its pages, smelling its old book smell, and rubbing my fingers over the signature.

Oh, to keep it and cherish it. But no, I sent it to my brother to auction on the dark web.

He does, for thousands. I stay in school. He gets arrested.