Ink

Ink. Will it go the way of the 8-track? the cassette? the Commodore 64? The other day, I tried to buy another fountain pen in Office Depot. “Sorry Ma’am. We don’t carry them anymore.” The red-shirted clerk pivoted and spoke into his wireless headset. “Yeah, got it. Some lady on 10 wanted a fountain pen.” He listened. “No kidding. I’ve never even seen one.”

I sauntered out the glass sliders without so much as a new pack of Post Its. My old pen still worked, but I misplaced it a few days ago and panicked. When I found it in the bottom of my laptop bag, I had to apologize to everyone in my family for the string of nasty accusations. “Did you steal my pen? Take it off my desk? Let me see your pockets.” I got to thinking it might be worth the investment to have a back-up. Office Depot wasn’t the only option. I could buy online or try the mall. Though, the specialty shop at the mall was probably out of my price range.

I know I sound frivolous, downright silly. I own G2’s and Inkjoy’s. Premium mechanical pencils disappear as fast as Hershey’s Special Dark around our house. But, my Waterman extends my heart onto the page like no other device. Liquid loops from a real pen are intimate. A nib scratches softly, euphoniously etching my thoughts onto paper.