The book I never returned

A guy in one of my classes lent me Rayuela. I can't remember his last name anymore. His first name was Miguel and he was very serious about books, the kind of person who made you feel like you had read everything incorrectly.

He explained to me that you could read it in different orders.

I thought this was the greatest thing I had ever heard.

I took the book home and never gave it back.

For years I felt slightly guilty whenever I saw it on the shelf. Then enough time passed that returning it would have been stranger than keeping it.

I still have it. Miguel, wherever you are, I'm sorry.