On the Benefits and the Pitfalls of Obsessive Compulsive Behaviour
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Summary: In which Yomiko learns the hard way that books on tape really aren't for her, and Nenene learns the hard way that books on tape really aren't for Yomiko.
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Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, they don't like me.
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"Remember what I said, Yomiko," Nenene commanded sternly, crossing her arms and all but glaring at the bespectacled girl hovering nervously in front of her.
Yomiko cast a longing, wistful look at the rows upon rows of bookshelves lining the walls and almost every other available inch of space, and the stacks of books obscuring the floor.
"I know, Nenene," she sighed mournfully.
"If you feel like you really have to read something, use the—"
"Nenene! You make me sound like some sort of addict!"
Nenene smirked.
"Oh, yeah? And what should I make you sound like?"
Two bright pink circles formed on Yomiko's cheeks, and Nenene hid a grin.
"Look, I gotta get going. Try to get some marking done tonight, would you?"
With that, the door banged shut, and Yomiko slogged sadly over to the desk wedged into one corner and piled several feet high with books. Her expression remarkably like that of someone turning one's best friend out of doors during a blizzard, she scooped up piles of books and set them very gently on the floor.
Finally, desk clear, she pulled out the chair, withdrew a stack of exam papers from the top drawer, uncapped a pen, and went determinedly to work.
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Three minutes later, a wild-eyed, slightly trembling Yomiko crossed the room in search of the little cassette tape player Nenene had left on one of her visits.
"I hope you were right about this, Nenene," she murmured, picking up and carefully examining the box that the author had left on the little table by the door. "Emma: The Audio Version, As Read by Hubert L. Pickledon. What a strange name," she concluded, shaking her head in bewilderment.
Still, nothing daunted, she popped the tape into the tape deck and made her way slowly back to her desk.
As the rich, soothing voice of the reader floated across the room towards her, Yomiko closed her eyes and relaxed into the familiar story. Yes…that was it. For a split second, she had almost tricked her mind into thinking that the book was open in front of her; tricked her hands into feeling the weight of the cover; tricked her fingers into feeling the slightly rough texture of the paper.
Yomiko sighed again. It wasn't quite the same, but Nenene was right; it was better than nothing. And she really did have to get some grading done this evening.
And so, resolutely picking up her pen, she settled in to work and listen with half an ear to the man on the tape droning out the imaginings and lovingly developed fancies of her old friend, Jane Austen.
The first half hour passed without incident, and with quite a lot being accomplished. Yomiko had just begun to reflect, pleasantly surprised, that Nenene might be onto something with this book-on-tape idea, when it happened.
The young woman at the desk froze, her pen dropping from suddenly nerveless fingers.
He hadn't.
In an instant, Yomiko was on her feet, climbing hastily through the piles of clutter on the floor. Almost lunging at the cassette player, she punched the rewind button, and then the play button.
Apparently, he had.
Best to make sure.
Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play.
She didn't want to judge hastily, after all.
Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play.
This sort of allegation was serious business.
Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play.
It was true. Her ears weren't deceiving her. Eleven times.
Nevertheless, she had to be sure that, even though her ears were working fine, her memory wasn't malfunctioning.
Two hours and a decent amount of rummaging through the many bookshelves crowded into the room later, Yomiko sat on the floor amid a pile of thirty-seven books, each of them a different edition of Emma. One by one, she flipped through each book until she reached Page 58, then skimmed quickly, and then sighed as her suspicions were (repeatedly) confirmed.
Finally, the pile dwindled to three last editions, then to two, then to one, and then to an empty patch of carpet.
She hadn't been recalling incorrectly – the error had been on the part of Mr. Pickledon.
This sort of glaring error called for a little gentle correction.
Or perhaps, Yomiko amended crossly on the way back to her desk, a little not-so-gentle correction, in the form of a strongly-worded letter.
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Half an hour of agonizing and proof-reading later, she glanced back over her painstakingly written little note, and smiled in satisfaction.
Perfect.
To Whom It May Concern, it read,
This is a quick note from a concerned reader. Upon listening to your recording of Jane Austen's Emma on cassette, as read by Hubert R. Pickledon, I was distressed to notice an error, in the eighth chapter of Volume I. The original passage reads, "'But as to my letting her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible'", but Mr. Pickledon clearly said, instead, "'But as to my letting her marry Robert Martin, it's impossible'". I urge you to correct this, as the passage in question is crucial to a full understanding and enjoyment of the book.
Thank-you for your time,
Yomiko Readman.
A little mean, perhaps, but a case like this called for forceful language.
Now to mail it.
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Ten minutes later, a completely typical, boring, and altogether incidental business man watched from his seat on the bus stop bench, hands folded and briefcase neatly in his starched and immaculately creased lap, as a young dark-haired woman with large thick black-framed classes and badly wrinkled clothes emerged from the building across the street.
Someone actually lived there?
The girl carried in one hand a small brown paper parcel, and in the other, a novel. Nose firmly in book, she meandered down the street in a slightly weaving pattern, until she reached the mailbox.
By 'reached', of course, the chronicler means 'walked headfirst into with a clang and a pained yelp'.
The man at the bus stop was on his feet and preparing to cross the street to assist the young woman, but stopped short as, nothing daunted, she dropped the package into the mailbox and meandered back down the street, nose once again firmly in book, until she reached the dull and dingy building again.
The bus stop patron shook his head.
This was one weird neighbourhood.
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"Uh, Yomiko," Nenene began with surprising hesitancy the next evening, warily eyeing the pile of Emma scattered over the floor of her friend's home.
From her position in the chair nearest the door, hands folded neatly, Yomiko blinked.
"Hmm?"
"I'm really glad you're finished marking those exam papers, but what are you doing?"
Yomiko looked down sheepishly and pushed her glasses back up as they began to slip off her nose.
"Um, about those, Nenene…"
Nenene's expression was the picture of grumpy annoyance, her posture likewise as she turned folded her arms and fixed her friend with a silent yet menacing command to start talking.
"Yeah?"
"I didn't quite get through them all."
"How many do you have left?"
"Hmm…how many students were there, again?"
"Forty-three," Nenene replied warily. "About thirty-seven that probably turned in papers."
"Well, then, I have thirty-three left," Yomiko announced, smiling happily, very pleased with her own powers of deduction. Or perhaps simply trying to deflect Nenene's inevitable wrath.
"You only got four finished?" Nenene asked, very slowly and eerily calm. "What did you spend all night doing?"
"Oh, Nenene, the book on tape you gave me—"
"What! I gave you that so you would get something done!"
"But this was a special situation!"
The brunette ground her teeth.
"Yeah, how?"
"Let me show you," Yomiko requested eagerly, already moving for the tape deck.
Nenene watched as the books began to pile up on the table next to it. Really, there was only one thing to be said, and Nenene lost no time in saying it.
"Ugh…"
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It was close to an hour later, an hour that had nearly been the death of Nenene's sanity, when the presentation concluded. Setting down the last copy of Emma, Yomiko beamed expectantly at her friend.
"Now you understand, right?"
"Yeah, I understand," Nenene replied flatly. "I understand that you're crazy."
"Nenene!" the older girl protested piteously. "I had to do it! These books should be preserved in their entirety, even on tape!"
"Yomiko," Nenene ground out. "We're talking about 'it is' being replaced by 'it's'. It's not a big deal!"
"It is not a big deal!" Yomiko corrected automatically.
"ARGH!" Nenene said very calmly.
"Oh, the mail's here!" the older girl exclaimed delightedly as a gentle, repeated tap carried up the stairs from the front door.
"Don't you mean the mail is here?" Nenene mimicked sarcastically.
"Oh, yes, of course," Yomiko agreed sheepishly. "Thank-you, Nenene."
"Why do I bother?" Nenene wondered aloud in a pained groan as Yomiko meandered down the stairs, nose firmly in a book that had caught her attention on the way out of the room.
The lovely and talented, if dangerously irate Miss Sumiregawa was to have no time to ponder why she, in fact, bothered, as the next second, the air was filled with a joyful squeal.
"What now?" she had just begun to ask herself, when Yomiko came dancing back into sight, a brown paper parcel tucked under one arm.
"They answered my letter, Nenene! I was beginning to think that they didn't care about their mistake, but I was wrong! They've replied after all!"
Nenene smirked.
"What does it say? No, no, let me guess." She cleared her throat. "Dear Miss Readman: get a social life. Now. We beg you."
"No, that's not what it says," Yomiko said absently, peering at the slip of paper. "Dear Miss Readman," she read aloud. "We thank you for your concern regarding Mr. Pickledon's reading of Emma. We will work to correct the error at our earliest opportunity. In the meantime, please enjoy this complimentary copy of our publisher's forty-ninth edition, with a special introduction by Mr. Pickledon, and critical material."
Nenene blinked, surprised, as Yomiko withdrew a book from the box and smiled in satisfaction, before sliding it onto the bookshelf next to her other copies.
"And that makes thirty-eight."
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End Notes: Isn't Yomiko CUTE when she's being maybe-manipulative?