My Leech

I was seven years old when it happened.

I was asleep in my bed. Morning had already broken, and the sun beamed down on me from the skylight above.

To this day, I remember vividly the strange sensation I experienced just before I awoke. It was like I had fallen from my body and was plummeting down to the dark pits of the earth, and then—

SNAP.

The bungee cord, whatever was tethering my soul to my body, went taut, and I shot back up towards the little girl lying on that twin mattress.

Except, I think I picked something up on my return journey.

Perhaps it was a piece of another soul that too was wandering. It latched onto me like a leech, clinging to me as I hurtled through space.

I reconnected with my body and sat up, gasping. Opening my eyes, it was as though I had put on a pair of glasses. Everything looked different, more vibrant. I felt clean, whole, new.

I shook off the feeling and went down for breakfast.

But that leech, whatever it was, began worming its way up my spine and into my brain.

That’s when the obsession began.

Don’t get me wrong, I had always loved books. My mother is a librarian, so I grew up surrounded by them. I recall being dropped off at the library by the sitter and I would fly through the shelves, flipping through colourful pages as she finished work. But it was only after that strange morning that reading slowly became an incessant need. A hungry appetite for words.

When I was younger my parents used to read us a chapter from a book before bed. I was soon sneaking out of my room once everyone was asleep to finish the novel.

I got caught quite quickly. It became very apparent I knew what was going to happen next when I would squirm impatiently as my mother slowly read up to an exciting plot twist. I was scolded and told I was not allowed to stay up past my bedtime to read. It didn’t stop me. My mother has convinced me the reason I need glasses is from straining my eyes trying to read in the dark.

By the time I entered my teens I was reading a novel a day. My parents were concerned about my lack of a social life, but I didn’t care. I was more than content to sit in my room and escape into my fictional worlds. I convinced my parents to buy me a laptop for my thirteenth birthday. They got me a little one, perfect for toting around as I started experimenting with placing my own words on my own pages. It was an exciting time.

Eventually puberty caught up to me. I started wanting to go to parties and boys suddenly became very interesting. I accidentally stepped on my laptop and cracked the screen, something my father had warned me would happen if I kept leaving it on the floor. My reading and writing dwindled. I was told I had to decide what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, and I was pushed in the direction of math and science because I happened to be good at them. Life became busy and my desire for words got lost somewhere in the mix.

Seven years later I have graduated with a degree in engineering. Suddenly life is a lot less busy. And I can feel something stirring in my brain. I think I may have found the lost piece. Or maybe it was never lost and just quietly resting until I was ready for it again.

Now it is waking up.

I hope that soul doesn’t come back looking for it. I’ve grown quite attached to my little leech.