reading the classics you feel like you've read but have never, in fact, read

Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I read it this week. I got it out of the library on the way to get a pint, because there really is not much nicer than sitting in a bar by oneself in the afternoon with a pint of Guiness and a good book. I headed to the library because I was in the mood for something I didn't have. I wanted Robert Louis Stevenson. Don't ask my why he popped into my head. I think I was just in the mood for an adventure story. A pirate story (Pirates, samurai, I don't know what this says about my swashbuckling state of mind lately, but at least I'm entertained). So I went into the library thinking I would get Kidnapped, not Treasure Island, because I read that one just one to many times as a kid. But I've only read Kidnapped a few times, and probably not since I was about twelve.

So anyway. I'm in the library, I find Kidnapped, and stashed right next to it is Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I guess I knew Stevenson wrote it, but never really put it all together. Standing there looking at it, I realized I've never actually read the book, even though we all know the story. Right then, I was intrigued, and felt like I should remedy this omission. Plus, the book was palm sized, and hardcover. I opened it, and the text was set in one narrow column down the center of each page. At the beginning of each chapter, the first letter of the first word was scrolly, and fancy, and red. And every so often, there was a cool woodcut, with a caption underneath, things like "Dr. Jekyll's hand" and "Mr. Hyde's hand." How could I resist? I felt that somehow this was the perfect book to enjoy sitting at a polished wood bar with my favorite beer in front of me. So I checked it out and headed to said bar.

It was around three o'clock, and the place was empty save for one guy sitting at the bar, talking to the bartender. I settled in with my pint at the other end of the bar, and began reading. I expected a good story, but man, it was good shit. I was immediately engrossed - after all, the story is told through a guy named Mr. Utterance. I was about fifteen pages in when the bartender went outside for a cigarette. And the guy at the end of the bar, well, I could just feel his attention shifting to me. You know those people at the bar that think that everyone is there to be social, and being in the same room is invitation for random chatting? Yeah, like the people on airplanes, the ones that force me to immediately don headphones upon boarding, and to keep them on even when there's no music playing. So I sat, looking totally involved in my book, or at least trying to, when in fact the guy was already distracting me and he hadn't even said anything. But I knew it was coming, it was like the room was holding its breath, waiting for him to speak. Sure enough,

"What're you reading?"

I look up begrudgingly at him, then at the cover of my book, like I'm not sure (I don't know why I do this, but I always do).

"Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," I say, and look back down at it. After a minute he says,

"I've always thought there was a little of both in all of us."

This catches me off guard. I mean, duh. So I say,

"I think that's kind of the point."

What a bitch! I didn't mean to sound snotty, but come on. I felt bad about it, but not bad enough to keep talking to him, so I turned back to my book. It did shut him up pretty effectively, and allowed me to down two pints in silence, and get about fifty pages into the book. Man, I wish I could be a bitch on purpose - it would be so handy! Usually it's like this occasion, accidental bitchiness, which gets the job done, but can't be counted on to just appear when needed.