I hate the library.
The smell of desperation - and maybe death, Mrs. Dell has moved since I got here twenty minutes ago - hung like a cloud. Several student were crammed around ancient computers getting late work done and printing essays that should have been printed last night. Their shadows from the afternoon sun cast onto the smoothing plaster walls. I was leaned back in my chair, counting the cracks in the plaster.
105... 106... 107...
Why was I here? Oh right. I was sent here from Mr. Dowsers class because “I needed more study time”. So what? Just because I flunked the third test in a row, I suddenly need to study? I hope he knows better, I hope he knows I’m not studying. I hope he knows that all I’m doing is counting the plaster cracks.
112... 113... 114...
Maybe I should be studying.
A loud yawn escaped me as I set up. One of the annoying girls a grade above me turned around and shh-ed me. I rolled my eyes and made an even louder yawn just to tick her off. In reply, she gave me the middle finger and went back to what ever she was doing. Oh.. so scary. A finger!
My chin sank into my chest and I glared at the book in front of me. Curse you Chemistry! With a sigh, I closed the book loudly. A chorus of “shh” rose up around me. Geez, I thought, all y’all shuddup. Of course if I had said that out loud, then I would have probably been pounded to a pulp by the macho-men football players in the corner flipping through Playboy magazines.
123... 124... 125...
Somewhere around 126 cracks in the plaster, I fell asleep. Next thing I knew. I was jumping ten feet high when the library door slammed. The annoying girl giggled and it was my turn to give her the finger. After she rolled her eyes and muttered something not-elementary-school-friendly under her breath, I turned to look at who had awoken my nap.
A girl in a black jacket too big for her, was smiling at the now awake Mrs. Dell. She laughed silently at something the wrinkled librarians said and moved past the counter. She zigzagged up and down the aisles, searching for an interesting book to read when she and I locked gazes.
She wore large black glasses that sat on the end of her nose, making her blue green eyes bigger. Her face was pale, dotted with light brown freckles, was one that seemed familiar to me. Had I seen her before? Then I saw her mouth moving and I blinked and sat back. “What?” I whispered.
Her face grew red. She stepped closer, and walked through the path of the air conditioning. The air blew her dark hair across her face and she gently tucked it behind her ear, but it fell back into her face. She repeated herself, “Hi.”
“Hey.” I said back. We looked at each other for an awkward few seconds, and I said quickly “I’m Keith.”
“Jennifer.” she took a step closer to inspect the book above my head. I noticed how small she was. She stood on her toes to get a better look at the books. Her eyes flicked across the spines and I realized she wasn’t actually reading the titles. “Any good books over here?” she asked casually.
I swallowed and tugged at the collar of my hoodie, suddenly feeling very hot. “Not that I know of.” wow, that was lame. “I mean,” I added, “I haven’t really looked.”
Jennifer nodded and smiled slightly. “Oh, okay.” slowly, she turned to move off.
“It was nice to meet you.” I whispered.
She looked back at me over her shoulder. She blinked at me, surprise flashing through her eyes. “Yeah.” she answered and hurried off.
I watched as she found a book and scurried from the library. Before she left, she looked back at me and did a little wave. Then she ducked her head and exited as loudly as she had came. She looked so familiar, where had I seen her before?
Leaning back in my chair, I stared at the ceiling. Then it hit me, she sat behind me in Chemistry. I borrowed a pencil from her the other day. But that wasn’t the only time I had ever seen her. The recognition of her came from farther back, buried deep in the dark corners of my brain (do brains have corners?). Before my eyes, the memories began to flitter into place.
Back in the days right after my mother and father separated (“It’s not your fault sweetie, it’s just that daddy and I didn’t get along anymore.”), mom and I moved into a shoebox apartment downtown. The yard out front of the building was nothing but hard packed earth and broken beer bottles jutting from the ground like the dead, clawing their way back into the world of the living. I knew it was the best mom could do with her graveyard shift job at the local diner down the street (“This is just temporary. Soon we’ll have our own place, won’t that be nice Keith?”).
I remember there was a girl my age living in the apartment building. The first time we had met, I had crawled out my window and onto the fire escape to drown out my mother’s sobbing right before work. The cold metal had bit at my palms as I grabbed the rail to climb higher. A floor above me, there sat a girl in a black jacket way to big for her. (“Hi, I’m Jennifer.”)
Even then, Jennifer had those large black glasses, and that big, face splitting smile. Everywhere she went, she had a book with her. She told me that reading let her escape from the world (“In books, I can be anything. I could have a whole family... A real family.”). We talked every night when I lived in those apartments. She told me about her books, and I told her about my video games. Sometimes we would talk about our family, but she always wanted to hear about mine. She never really liked to speak about hers, but every now and again, I could coax a little bit out of her (“My daddy lost his job, and he always drinks this smelly drink. He never has time to do things with me; like play dolls or make necklaces. But he taught me to read, and that is the greatest gift he’s every given me.”)
A year later, her dad got into a bad car crash and I never saw Jennifer again.
Until now.
“Nice to meet you.. Again.” I whispered to myself.
I watched a piece of dust float through my field of vision. It rose and dipped on unfelt air currents, swirling in lazy circles. For some reason, that piece of dust reminded me of Jennifer. My head drifted back, and my eyes fell on the book shelf above my head. Maybe there was something interesting to read up there.
My sight went from the book to the wall once more. I realized I had lost count of the cracks in the plaster.
1... 2... 3...
The smell of desperation - and maybe death, Mrs. Dell has moved since I got here twenty minutes ago - hung like a cloud. Several student were crammed around ancient computers getting late work done and printing essays that should have been printed last night. Their shadows from the afternoon sun cast onto the smoothing plaster walls. I was leaned back in my chair, counting the cracks in the plaster.
105... 106... 107...
Why was I here? Oh right. I was sent here from Mr. Dowsers class because “I needed more study time”. So what? Just because I flunked the third test in a row, I suddenly need to study? I hope he knows better, I hope he knows I’m not studying. I hope he knows that all I’m doing is counting the plaster cracks.
112... 113... 114...
Maybe I should be studying.
A loud yawn escaped me as I set up. One of the annoying girls a grade above me turned around and shh-ed me. I rolled my eyes and made an even louder yawn just to tick her off. In reply, she gave me the middle finger and went back to what ever she was doing. Oh.. so scary. A finger!
My chin sank into my chest and I glared at the book in front of me. Curse you Chemistry! With a sigh, I closed the book loudly. A chorus of “shh” rose up around me. Geez, I thought, all y’all shuddup. Of course if I had said that out loud, then I would have probably been pounded to a pulp by the macho-men football players in the corner flipping through Playboy magazines.
123... 124... 125...
Somewhere around 126 cracks in the plaster, I fell asleep. Next thing I knew. I was jumping ten feet high when the library door slammed. The annoying girl giggled and it was my turn to give her the finger. After she rolled her eyes and muttered something not-elementary-school-friendly under her breath, I turned to look at who had awoken my nap.
A girl in a black jacket too big for her, was smiling at the now awake Mrs. Dell. She laughed silently at something the wrinkled librarians said and moved past the counter. She zigzagged up and down the aisles, searching for an interesting book to read when she and I locked gazes.
She wore large black glasses that sat on the end of her nose, making her blue green eyes bigger. Her face was pale, dotted with light brown freckles, was one that seemed familiar to me. Had I seen her before? Then I saw her mouth moving and I blinked and sat back. “What?” I whispered.
Her face grew red. She stepped closer, and walked through the path of the air conditioning. The air blew her dark hair across her face and she gently tucked it behind her ear, but it fell back into her face. She repeated herself, “Hi.”
“Hey.” I said back. We looked at each other for an awkward few seconds, and I said quickly “I’m Keith.”
“Jennifer.” she took a step closer to inspect the book above my head. I noticed how small she was. She stood on her toes to get a better look at the books. Her eyes flicked across the spines and I realized she wasn’t actually reading the titles. “Any good books over here?” she asked casually.
I swallowed and tugged at the collar of my hoodie, suddenly feeling very hot. “Not that I know of.” wow, that was lame. “I mean,” I added, “I haven’t really looked.”
Jennifer nodded and smiled slightly. “Oh, okay.” slowly, she turned to move off.
“It was nice to meet you.” I whispered.
She looked back at me over her shoulder. She blinked at me, surprise flashing through her eyes. “Yeah.” she answered and hurried off.
I watched as she found a book and scurried from the library. Before she left, she looked back at me and did a little wave. Then she ducked her head and exited as loudly as she had came. She looked so familiar, where had I seen her before?
Leaning back in my chair, I stared at the ceiling. Then it hit me, she sat behind me in Chemistry. I borrowed a pencil from her the other day. But that wasn’t the only time I had ever seen her. The recognition of her came from farther back, buried deep in the dark corners of my brain (do brains have corners?). Before my eyes, the memories began to flitter into place.
Back in the days right after my mother and father separated (“It’s not your fault sweetie, it’s just that daddy and I didn’t get along anymore.”), mom and I moved into a shoebox apartment downtown. The yard out front of the building was nothing but hard packed earth and broken beer bottles jutting from the ground like the dead, clawing their way back into the world of the living. I knew it was the best mom could do with her graveyard shift job at the local diner down the street (“This is just temporary. Soon we’ll have our own place, won’t that be nice Keith?”).
I remember there was a girl my age living in the apartment building. The first time we had met, I had crawled out my window and onto the fire escape to drown out my mother’s sobbing right before work. The cold metal had bit at my palms as I grabbed the rail to climb higher. A floor above me, there sat a girl in a black jacket way to big for her. (“Hi, I’m Jennifer.”)
Even then, Jennifer had those large black glasses, and that big, face splitting smile. Everywhere she went, she had a book with her. She told me that reading let her escape from the world (“In books, I can be anything. I could have a whole family... A real family.”). We talked every night when I lived in those apartments. She told me about her books, and I told her about my video games. Sometimes we would talk about our family, but she always wanted to hear about mine. She never really liked to speak about hers, but every now and again, I could coax a little bit out of her (“My daddy lost his job, and he always drinks this smelly drink. He never has time to do things with me; like play dolls or make necklaces. But he taught me to read, and that is the greatest gift he’s every given me.”)
A year later, her dad got into a bad car crash and I never saw Jennifer again.
Until now.
“Nice to meet you.. Again.” I whispered to myself.
I watched a piece of dust float through my field of vision. It rose and dipped on unfelt air currents, swirling in lazy circles. For some reason, that piece of dust reminded me of Jennifer. My head drifted back, and my eyes fell on the book shelf above my head. Maybe there was something interesting to read up there.
My sight went from the book to the wall once more. I realized I had lost count of the cracks in the plaster.
1... 2... 3...
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