Read Me Some Tolstoy

“Read me some Tolstoy” four words I might have dreamed being asked but never in my wildest dreams did I actually think someone would. The truth is, I had been working up to this moment for quite some time. As a kid, on road trips, I was the obnoxious ten-year-old that would insist that the rest of the car listened while I read to them through the winding roads of the 101. And I wasn’t just hoping for an audience, they needed to be captive. My mom was often the first to remind me that she wanted to enjoy her ride too and to my vexation, I would be muted in the back seat with the exception of my quiet murmuring about the lack of sophistication surrounding me in the car.   

Unfortunately, my talents have continued to be stifled despite my dramatic readings of precious literature. Just last month, I found out that Taylor, my boyfriend, had never read Jane Eyre and so me, being a thoughtful woman,  agreed to read to him aloud so that he could have the full experience. To my chagrin, Taylor fell asleep within 8 pages. And so, again, my book was closed to the sounds of my soliloquy to a vacant audience. It seemed that no one could appreciate the leather bound beauty that sat atop my bedside table for the next two weeks while it collected dust. For this reason, I thought that my opportunity to read aloud must be forever tucked away saved for exceptions , exceptions that subdued my creativity, like when young children wanted me to read Hop on Pop or Brown Bear, Brown Bear.

But as Tolstoy says, “the two most powerful warriors are patience and time”, a few days ago the opportunity of a lifetime finally fell at my footsteps. My hospice patient—smart, well-educated, and painfully quiet—sat opposite me in a lazy-boy. For two months I have visited for about 4 hours each week and have been instructed to quietly study at the dining room table until it is time for me to leave. So when I arrived, without hesitation I checked that the patient had a glass of water, felt warm and comfortable, and then settled into my corner getting ready for four hours of silence. After two hours I heard a stern voice behind me. Directing me towards him, my patient pointed to the cat condo he used as a book shelf and ordered, “read me some Tolstoy”.

 Until this moment my life may have been unfulfilled but I am certain that years of reading in back seats of cars and the disappointments of my listeners drifting off to sleep only made this moment sweeter. As I closed Tolstoy’s Collected Short Stories, my patient looked up at me and smiling said “now, now you are very good, a very good orator; pleasant to my ears.” Nothing else could have made up for the years of distress in the beginnings of my career.