I Know Who the Half-Blood Prince Is

What a weekend! I finished reading the latest installment in J.K. Rowling's 6th Harry Potter book last night at 11:30 p.m. As the release of the book drew closer last week, I had passed idle moments wondering, "Should I savor the book or tear through it?" I wavered back and forth, weighing the benefits. I could tear through it and then savor it. I could re-read the other six first. In the end, of course, I devoured it, just as I suspected I probably would. I wanted to know what happened and I wanted to know as soon as possible. I also didn't want to find out what happened accidentally from someone else who had already finished it.

But let me take you back to last Friday, July 15 at about 11:15 p.m. Doc and I were sitting in the lodge, watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and I was debating whether I should go get my copy from Borders at 12:01 a.m. or wait until about 8:00 a.m. and get a copy from Walmart. I finally asked Doc, "Should I stay or should I go." He said, go, so I went. I dashed upstairs to change my shirt (I had spilled a little salsa on it) and looked in my closet for something clean. I saw my black velvet skirt hanging in the closet and became inspired. Or lost my mind; I'm not sure which. So I dressed up in velvet from head to toe, put in long, dangly earrings, strappy sandles, and completed the outfit with a bejeweled, black velvet handbag.

I drove over to the local Borders and found the place packed...with people mostly wearning t-shirts and shorts. Ah, well. At least I wasn't wearning a witch's hat or Harry Potter glasses. I convinced myself that it was possible for people to think that I may have just stopped in after the opera or something. I know, I know: velvet in July? But the reasoning gave me the courage to get through the door.

There was so much activity in the store and there were probably about 300 people. They were having contests and face-painting. As I moved through the store, I caught a sob in my throat. I don't know why, but whenever I'm in a crowd and I am faced with emotion en masse, especially when it is positive, I cry. I just get this wave of energy and it's almost too much. So I choke up, especially at concerts, ball games, and parades. If anyone has a good explanation for this reaction, I tell you, I'd be interested in hearing it.

I got to watch as the store workers brought the boxes of books out on large carts from the back of the store; all of them marked with the warning "Do not open until July 16, 2005." I witnessed the cashiers line up at all six cash registers and watched them watch the clock. When it was 12:01 a.m., all six of them threw an arm in the air and yelled, "Next in line!" The first customer was a girl of about 10 years old. Those that followed were ages 7-70, all colors, and economically diverse. It was wonderful to behold.

But, my feet started to hurt standing there. I was number 808 and I had plenty of time until my number was called to line up. So, I wandered back towards the end of the line and found a nice leather armchair in the mythology and sociology section. I was glancing through the titles near my chair and I cam across the book Fairy Island. It is a picture book created by a mother and daughter team. They captured images of five or six fairy homes on Fairy Island. It was delightful, especially the fairies' shoes. They were so tiny and one pair was made out of peanut shells! All the materials, for the most part, were found in nature and everything was in miniature. There was a cute series of letters from a grandmother to her granddaughter about stumbling upon these little homes while studing the local plant life.

It was quite a lovely way to spend a hour in the middle of the night. I flipped through the book, examined the pictures, and read some of the text. The long line passed right by my seat and I had a front row view of those who had just cued up. I was able to people-watch as well as fairy-watch. I finished the book and was replacing it on the shelf when I heard the announcement saying that those with line numbers 700-800 should gather in Art and Architecture. I got up and wandered over. I was 808, but I figured it couldn't be too much longer; the store was emptying and there was a dip in the energy of the place.

About twenty minutes later, I found myself much closer to the cash registers. There was a fun couple of black ladies behind me, probably in there 30's or 40's. One of them was obviously there to accompany her friend who was interested in buying the book, but had no interest at all in Harry Potter. They discussed the merits of Aretha Franklin, while wondering how many times they had purchased copies of the song "Respect." But they decided that she was so good, it didn't really matter. They debated the coolness of the titles of several African-American novel titles. The winner was Caught 'em Slippin'. At one point, the HP fan, commented on my earrings, asking me if I made them myself. I hadn't. The disinterested lady wondered aloud if she could just pay for her Aretha albums at the cafe, since she wasn't interested in buying the Harry Potter book.

Shortly before I was next in line, the fan was talking about how they were getting closer and wasn't it great! The other agreed half-heartedly and said, "You did read the other Harry Potter books, didn't you?" The fan paused and said nothing, obviously busted. Her friend rolled her eyes and said, "Your cool factor just slipped 20 points, you know that don't you?"

At that point I was next in line, but that exchange just maid me joyous. Here are complete strangers talking about their cool factor! How fun! I was so glad to find that other people talked about it too. I felt connected, like, if we had been stuck on line together longer, we would definately have become friends. But it was 1:15 a.m. and I was bushed. I purchased my copy, thanked the cashier, and held the new book to my chest as I went out to my car.

Sometimes, I feel like I am an observer of life. Even when I'm having fun, I'm watching as an outsider. I am in the audience. I am an anthropologist. I don't know if that is because I am shy at heart or if it is because I am a reader and I read life rather than live it most of the time. Maybe I want to see and not be seen. I feel like a small child, sometimes, finding out the rules of a giant complicated game of Calvin Ball a few at a time. But every now and then, the rules click and I can step out onto the playing field and throw myself into the game. The moment becomes itself and I lose myself.

On this night, I was observing intentionally. I wanted to bear witness. It was the first time that I think I consciously and voluntarily participated in something as a witness. But I found myself stepping in as a participant every now and then. To me, art is anything that brings us together as friends. A painting, or a poem, or a song is successful when it connects with the observer and transfers an emotion or idea completely. And here is a marvelous book that not only connects author to reader, but reader to reader. And we are all so different from each other in appearance and background. But that night, we were all students at Hogwarts, gathered in Flourish and Blott's, anticipating the next school term.