Song Remains the Same

Chapter 115: The Librarian

"She is too fond of books, and it has addled her brain."
- Louisa May Alcott

Topeka, Kansas

Beneath bike pedals, pavement whizzed by until it was nothing but a gray blur, but that still wasn't fast enough for Molly Ziegler. She was late and nothing could change that she was late, but she was fighting fate anyway out of desperation, risking life and limb with how fast she was going. It just figured that she'd forgotten her bike helmet as she'd rushed out of the class that had gone late... and now she was a mess and a half as she tried to get herself to work on time. In a flash of morbid musing, Molly imagined herself losing control of her bike and wiping out on the pavement. At her funeral, everyone would shake their heads in disappointment because of how she had once been so on-time and put-together until grad school had just proved too much for her to handle.

At that exact moment, she heard the sound she had been silently begging not to hear. Her wristwatch chirped, signaling the top of the hour. When she heard that innocent little beep, her already tight stomach plunged into itself with dismay. No, no, no! Now I'm late for real! AGAIN!

Being late was one of the things she hated most in life. One thing she irrevocably could not stand, and yet here she was, late to work for the third time in two weeks. It was making her sick. Class had run late again, and she could currently conceive of no bigger problem in life than this.

Molly practically crashed her bike into the rack in front of the Shawnee County Library and swung off in an ungraceful stumble, her shaking hands fumbling with the bike lock. She could usually lock it in two seconds easily, but her flustered, breathless state had rendered her incapable of doing anything correctly at the current moment. You'd think she had just been through a traumatic event from the look on her face. For Molly, being late (or even being almost-late) was a traumatic event—it meant she wasn't in control and that she didn't have things organized. It meant that she was a mess. And she really didn't want to be a mess and she really was doing her best with her hectic lifestyle and why won't this thing lock?!

Increasingly agitated, Molly struggled with the lock a couple seconds more and offered up silent prayers and curses to the lock-gods then finally got it to cooperate. The second she got the lock to snap shut, she took off at an embarrassingly full run toward the front doors of the library... and promptly lost one of her shoes. She turned in a dizzy whirl and snatched the shoe back up, hopping awkwardly and trying to shove her foot into her shoe as she skip-hop-jumped toward the shining glass doors of the library. Must—not—be—any—later—than—I—already—am!

"Hiya Molly!" came a cheerful woman's voice.

A very discombobulated Molly turned mid-hop, trying not to stop because she didn't want to get caught up in a conversation. Paranoid about being seen as rude, she gave a quick wave with her shoe and then a polite response to the library patron she recognized—Laura Feeley who checked out books on gardening and chatted to Molly sometimes about the herbs she grew and her hydrangea bush. "Hi Miss Laura!" she called, trying to summon a polite smile even as—wham!—Molly miscalculated how fast she was going and ran headlong right into the solid glass door. With a startled squeak, she fell down onto her butt.

Totally humiliated with low blood sugar, burning cheeks, shaking hands and legs, Molly knew she must look ridiculous and she therefore wanted to die or disappear... whichever would be more convenient and quick, please. But neither one happened and Miss Laura fussed over her (which only made it worse) and then insisted on helping her up (Molly really wished she hadn't) and then started to try and joke around (which only was making her more and more late).