AudioBook Reading Sample - The Notebook
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. Chapter one. Miracles, Who Am I? And how I wonder, will this story end? The sun has come up, and I'm sitting by a window that it's foggy but the breath of life gone by. I must site this morning two shirts, heavy pants, a scarf wrapped twice around my neck and tucked into a thick sweater needed by my daughter. 30 birthdays ago. Therapist down in my room has said as high as it will go, and a smaller space heater sits directly behind me. It clicks and groans and spews hot air like a fairy tale dragon. And still, my body shivers with a cold that will never go away. A cold that has been 80 years in the making. 80 years, I think sometimes and some. Despite my own acceptance of my age, it still amazes me that I haven't been warm since George Bush was president. I wonder if this is how it is for everyone, my age, my life. It isn't easy to explain. It has not been a rip roaring spectacular I fancied it would be, but neither of I borrowed around with the Gophers. I suppose it is most resembled a blue chip stock, fairly stable, more ups and downs and gradually trending upward over time. A good bye. A lucky by. And I've learned that not everyone can say this about his life. But do not be misled. I'm nothing special of this. I am sure I'm a common man with the common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me, and my name will soon be for gotten. But I've loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough. The romantics would call this a love story. The cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind, it's a little bit of both, no matter how you choose to view it. In the end, it does not change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life and the path I have chosen to follow. I have no complaints about my path and the places that has taken me enough complaints to fill a circus tent about other things. Maybe, but the path I have chosen has always been the right one. I know I wouldn't have had it any other way. Time, unfortunately, doesn't make it easy to stay on course the path of strays ever and now it is strewn with rocks and gravel that accumulate over a lifetime. Until three days ago, it would have been easy to ignore, But it's impossible now. There is a sickness rolling through my body. I'm neither strong nor healthy, and my days are spent like an old party balloon, listless, spongy and growing softer. Over time I cough and through squinted eyes. I check my watch. I realized it is time to go. I stand for my seat by the window and shuffle across room, stopping of the desk to pick up the notebook. I have read 100 times. I do not glance through it. Instead, I slip it beneath my arm and continue on my way to the place I must go. I walk on the tile floors, white in color and speckled with gray like my hair and their most the people here, though I'm the only one in the hallway this morning. They're in their rooms alone except for the television, but they, like me, are used to it. A person can get used to anything if given enough time. I hear the muffled sounds of crying in the distance and know exactly was making those sounds. Then the nurses see me and we smile at each other, exchanged greetings. They're my friends. We talk often, but I'm sure they wonder about me and the things that I go through. Every day. I listened as they begin to whisper among themselves as I pass. There he goes again here. I hope it turns out well, but they say nothing directly to me about it. I'm sure they think it would hurt me to talk about it so early in the morning and knowing myself as I do, I think they're probably right. A minute later, I reached the room. The door has been propped open for me, as it usually is. There are two others in the room, and they to smile at me as I enter. Good morning, they say with cherry voices, and I take a moment to ask about the kids and the schools and upcoming vacations. We talk about the crying for a minute or so. They do not seem to notice they've come them to it. But then again, so have I. afterward, I sit in the chair that has come to be shaped like me. They're finishing up now, her closer on. But still she's crying. It will become quieter after they leave. I know the excitement of the morning always upsets her, and today is no exception. Finally, the shade is open and the nurses walk out. Both of them touch me and smile as they walk by. I wonder what this means. I sit for just a second and Sarah Attar, but she doesn't return the look I understand, for she doesn't know who I am. I'm a stranger tour, then turning away about my head and pray silently for the strength I know I will need. I've always been a firm believer in God and the power of prayer, though, to be honest, my faith is made for a list of questions. Definitely want answered after I'm gone. Ready now on the go, the glasses out of my pocket comes a magnifier. I put it on the table for a moment while I opened the notebook. It takes two licks on the mind neural finger to get the well worn cover open to the first page. Then I put the magnifier in place. There's always a moment right before I begin to read this story with my mind turns. And I wonder, Will it happen today? I don't know, for I never know beforehand, and deep down, it really doesn't matter. It's a possibility that keeps me going, not the guarantee sort of wager on my part and that you may call me a dreamer or full or any other thing. I believe that anything is possible. I realized the odds and science are against me. But science is not the total answer. This I know this I have learned in my lifetime, and that leaves me with the belief that miracles, no matter how inexplicable, are unbelievable, are riel and can occur without regard to the natural order of things. So once again, just as I do every day, I begin to read the notebook out loud so that she can hear it in the hope the miracle that has come to dominate my life. But once again prevail. And maybe, just maybe, it will