He would read to me. On our way to school. Even on days that were white with snow. He would shove his head in his beanie, his long blond hair sticking out underneath it. What book are you reading now, I asked. The next Harry Potter book, he responded. Another Harry Potter book, I complained. His blue eyes narrowed and glared at me. Do you want me to read to you? Yes, I admitted, defeated.

He turned his backpack around to the front of him. Unzipped it and pulled out a large book. It looked like a bible. Large, square and hard. A green cover and a purple spine. With no picture on the front. The only difference between the book and a bible was that the book had golden writing on the spine of the book. I’d stare intently trying to figure out what it had said, before he open it.

Then he would turn around and walk backwards in front of me. He would look at me sternly and instruct me to tell him if he’s going to run into anything. I nodded and he started reading. His voice changed when he read, it softened. As if he became the characters. His voice occasionally would get stuck and he stumbled over the words. I would listen to the sound of his voice. Not understanding what he had read.

His face would change along with his voice. His face relaxed as if he had forgotten I was there. Blue eyes that were normally stern and narrow, calmed. I liked that look on him. I wish he wore it more often. It made me smile.

I never listened to him read. I only let him read to me so could see that look in his eyes. I wonder what happened to it. What happened to the look in his eyes?