Flint

It was another classic day in Morgantown. Cold enough to require a jacket, and hot enough to sweat in one. As I awoke from my light nap, I felt the thick humidity of the air as my shirt stuck to parts of my chest. Groggily, I went over to the kitchen and started the tea kettle for my evening coffee. It was around six in the evening, and I was following the usual thursday routine: go to class, take a nap, and head over to my college’s radio station to prepare for the five hours of music. This time however, I was adding a step. Nick Flynn was doing a reading in the downtown library, and it just so happened that it fit perfectly into my schedule. The little exposure I had of Flynn’s work impressed me, and there was no real reason not to go.

Walking into the downtown library, I asked the girl at the counter for directions to the Milano Reading Room. It had been a long time since I had been in this library, and I could exactly recall where it was. Traversing up the stairs, I felt the memories of the reading room rush in. I had only been there twice before to study, but this time it felt completely different. As I walked up the steps, I could hear light chatter slightly echo the wide chamber. Despite being there before, I couldn’t help but feel an oppressive sense of grandeur while scanning the reading room. I say “room,” but really that’s a bit of a misnomer. In the moment it felt more like a very wide and tall hall than anything else. Dusty old bookcases lined the walls, broken up by old-looking paintings and busts. Looking right, rows of stiff wooden chairs pointed to an empty podium. Decisively avoiding the sugary refreshments, I took a seat in the back row, quietly acknowledging the english professor that mentioned this event to the class. After a minute or two, Will from that same class sat down next to me, and we had a quick chat before the event started.

As for the reading itself, it had all the key points that you can come to expect from a these sorts of events. The somewhat lengthy and numerous introductions. Light humor mixed in, accompanied by that one guy who loudly chuckles at even the smallest quip. That one dude you’re trying very hard not to look at who had started a bunch of “twitter beef” with your friends a few hours earlier. Flynn was by and large, exactly what I expected. The way he manages to write so many words beautifully while only occasionally making things explicitly clear is what drew me to the event in the first place, and his description of the fire he survived as a child did not disappoint. The poetic prose he writes is enthralling, and hearing him read it aloud put a voice to what I had read the day before. The reading itself was fairly short, clocking in at around thirty minutes long. Walking out with Will, I succumbed to my temptation and picked up a chocolate cookie. Finally, I walked out into the rain to head over to my five hour radio shift.