We met in a mall bookstore. She was waiting to purchase the latest publication by Trinidadian historian and author, Angelo Bissessarsingh to add to her extensive collection. I was in the midst of leisurely browsing through pricey titles I did not need and could not afford, on reluctantly returning to the twin islands to live after 14 years.
Joking that buyers and readers like us, who preferred the crisp cut and crackle of paper, had become an old, endangered species on the way to certain extinction, I giggled with her over my husband’s disclosure of the books I had stubbornly shipped in at great cost.
I pointed out most were his, but she praised my smiling spouse for his long-running, much-loved humorous columns, asked to be added to our mailing and friends list. Two weeks ago, and a few years later, as he thanked her on Facebook for faithfully sharing our writing and his “resurrection of old jokes,” she replied, “Be safe during the Easter, you, Indranie and children. Much respect to you sir.”
