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The feel of books was unfamiliar to Sylvia Tilly. Sure, she had read them, avidly even, but it had only ever been on padds or through audio recordings. Reading had been one of the few things her mother had approved of when she was younger, so she could always be found reading something or another in an attempt to please her. Often, she would be seen trying to get in one last page from her padd before the start of class, or listening to the drone of the computer's voice as it read the sciences and histories of the world around her.
Whenever her mother’s watchful eyes left her, however, she would open a copy of a novel. In them she would let herself break free and soar, letting the far away worlds and lives steal her away. Sylvia wasn’t picky with what her reading material consisted of as long as she could escape.
Then Michael entered her life. She had been utterly intimidating at first, but the two had soon grown an understanding which in turn had led to a friendship unlike any that Sylvia had ever had before. Michael was the moon to her sun. Together they formed a balance, a peace that Sylvia had never been able to experience in the past.
Along with Michael had come the first real book that Sylvia had ever held. Alice in Wonderland . Solid, comforting, a story that she could hold in her hand, all the words contained into this single togetherness that she felt she could somehow absorb just through touch.
She would catch Michael reading it often and Sylvia would see how relaxed she became, would see her eyes roaming intently over the lines that she probably already knew by heart. Sylvia had already read of Alice’s adventures in Wonderland years ago, and most of what she remembered from it was that it was one hell of a trip. No, it wasn’t even the story itself that brought Sylvia joy, it was the physical realness of the book and the importance it held to her roommate.
Which brings Sylvia to this moment. To the unfamiliar feel of real books in an old library. They had taken shore leave on Earth for a few days to undergo some repairs, and Michael had brought her here as a surprise. It was exhilarating. She skimmed her hands over the spines of the books, feeling the words and sentences and pages seep into her soul. They soothed her, grounded her to this very moment, Michael by her side, eyes twinkling as she watched Sylvia move dazedly through the shelves. Sometimes she would pick out an interestingly decorated spine and examine the cover in rapt interest, maybe even sandwich it in her palms, squeezing it in the amazement that such a tangible thing could hold the kinds of stories that she had been reading all her life.
Eventually, she came across a book that she had quietly been looking for. She pulled it carefully from the shelf and examined it in awe.
“‘There’s a tree that grows in Brooklyn.’” She whispered, her surroundings temporarily forgotten for she was too caught up in the wonder of actually being able to hold this book in her hands. She felt a tap on her shoulder and jumped. “Wha- what? Michael? Oh, yes, Michael, of course you’re here, I mean, you brought me here, why would I forget that? Yeah I was just looking at the books and you’re right here next to me. Yep and I -”
“Sylvia.” Michael looked at her pointedly. Sylvia could see a glint of amusement in her expression.
“Yeah?” Sylvia could hear her own voice waver a bit.
“Why don’t you tell me about the book?” It was said in the soft tone that Michael had perfected in her time with Sylvia.
A beat passed where Sylvia let out a breath. Then she began, “Yeah sure it’s about this girl, or this family actually, the Nolans, and it takes place in the the twentieth century but sometimes it’ll go back to the late eighteen hundreds when they talk about her parents and stuff and they live in the ghetto part of Brooklyn and the mom likes the son more but she can’t help it and it’s really intricate and tells this really great story about how the girl, her name is Francie, grows up in the poor part of Brooklyn and she meets all these really interesting people and it’s just really great …”
Two days later, after they’ve re-boarded the Discovery, Sylvia enters into her shared room and finds Michael with a book in her hands. Stepping forward, she hands it to her. On it is the title A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
“‘There’s a tree that grows in Brooklyn.’” Michael starts. There’s a small smile dancing on her lips.
“How- how did you even get this, I mean real books are so rare and I - just, how?” Sylvia asks.
“The librarian and I go way back”, Michael says as an answer.
“Oh really? How mysterious.”
“I know. Now, where was I? Oh, ‘Some people call it the Tree of Heaven.’” Michael continues, undeterred.
A moment passed.
“Because ‘No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky’”, Sylvia finishes, still a bit in awe at the fact that she’s actually holding this book in her hands and that it’s hers. “I can’t thank you enough for this.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sylvia, you’ve already made it up to me.”
“Really? How?”
“By being yourself, Francie, for growing out of the cracks in the pavement and being better than what you were given.”