The battle of lent books

There was one book left on the chair that is outside the front door of my house. J.D. Salinger's Raise High the Rooftop, Carpenters. It was sitting, my roommate reports on the chair, wrapping rubberbands, bookmarked with my name. I don't know why I lent it but I did. Months ago. Last year, I think. Anyway, I tried to make a point to get it back from, well, we'll call her Steel Trap (She remembers everything!), before she left -- she was leaving and -- maybe? -- not coming back. We talked about me getting my book back before she departed. She actually came over but didn't bring it, even thought she swore she didn't want it, that it reminded her of me. Despite the "talk", I didn't get it before she left. I actually wrote that book off. It was a paperback and I wasn't concerned. Yesterday, the thing is on the chair outside my front door. I'm left wondering, did she remember to remember to ask someone to drop it off, who just now remembered. Or, is she back in town? She must be. Do I call her? Do I have to? I wait.

Same day, different message. This one -- we'll call her Cupcake -- says she has my book, Rule of the Bone, and, "would I like it back?" Well, hell yes, I mean of course. Shit, that one's signed and I never should have sent it out of my house. Turns out -- turns out? I knew full well -- I had one of hers, Everything is Illuminated, also a signed copy. Kind of a trade I guess. We weren't really talking anymore, much, Cupcake and I. Things fizzled. It went stale. However in the hell you want to put it. But I went to make the exchange, I'd keep 'em both if I could. Rode my bike to her apartment and made the trade and tried to make small talk. And I'll leave it there.

I left, however, with my book back in my hand, wondering, Why would I ever lend a book? For blog purposes? Hardly seems sensical.

At least these two are back where they belong. Not lost: the rule my dad once wrote about.