When I graduated high school, I was given a book by my biology mentor. The book was bigger than any textbook I had seen before that point, and I could not fathom what was possibly between the covers. The book came with a card that promised that I could kill a rat with it if I dropped it from a high-enough distance. But it also spoke of the journey the book has been on. He had taken the book across the world with him as he moved through his life; it was one of his favorite books, and it was now in my possession. It was an honor to call the book mine, and I was determined to read it.
I started reading "Infinite Jest" the day that I drove up to Morris to register for my classes. I had a total of 16 hours in a car and a handful in a hotel room; what time could have been better? Every page that I read seemed to drip with excitement. Not only was the book turning out to be an incredible read, but I also was laying the groundwork for an incredible first semester of college. I read the first 100 pages of "Infinite Jest" on the same trip that I unknowingly met my best friend for the first time.
I tried to continue to read "Infinite Jest" over that summer, but I found myself trying to fit in as many last moments in my hometown as I possibly could. I think I had some sort of intuition that I wouldn’t be spending much time there anymore; and I was right. By the timeI had started preseason, I was 300 pages in and I could tell that it would be my favorite book. But, as the school year picked up, I set down my book for another time.
I tried to read "Infinite Jest" again the summer after my freshman year at Morris. I had a hard time grasping that Morris was a real place, and the people that I had met could actually be as incredible as they were. I spent most of my time working in a lab and catching up with friends that I hadn’t seen in a long time. But I also spent a lot of time longing for the people I had just begun to know. Again, I only got 300 pages into "Infinite Jest" that summer before I set it down to travel back to Morris.
My last attempt to read "Infinite Jest" was the summer after my sophomore year. I was spending the summer in Morris, and I had no idea what I was in for. I got to spend almost every moment with people that I care about and love, and learned to care and love even more. I sprawled across couches watching fail compilations and circled the streets with my bike. I felt like I had found a home here. In arguably the best summer of my life, I read the first 150 page of "Infinite Jest."
I have not tried to read "Infinite Jest" since then, and I don’t think I will until I graduate and move away. I want to read this book badly. I feel like I am missing out on life secrets that my biology mentor gave me years ago. But every time I open the book I get interrupted by the incredible life that Morris continues to provide me, with people that are so great I still struggle to remember that they are real. The day that I finally read the book in its entirety, I will find each page dripping with not only the words of David Foster Wallace but also the memories that I have stained the pages with. The mornings I woke up to go lifting, the nights I walked to Casey’s. The couch I sprawled across on my dorm floor, the stage I walked across in a scene.
The day that I finally finish "Infinite Jest" will be on a day that I have long-since finished my life in Morris. But, as long as I carry my copy of that absurdly heavy novel, I’ll be able to take my life in Morris wherever I go.
