Between the Lines

Two - Oliver

I gently push open the door to the small library I've come to know relatively well. My body runs through my usual routine. I move around the front desk and drop off my book in the returns box, then turn back to face the library. I always feel a sense of nostalgia here, but I'm not sure why I feel like that. I take a deep breath in, absorbing the rich scent of coffee and the comforting environment. This library is always so serene when it's almost empty.

The building is fairly antique looking. It has a tall, peaked roof, large windows and lots of floor space, well, that is if you take all the books out. The first third of the library contains the small front desk, a little barista setup and an arrangement of worn leather couches, beanbags and coffee tables. The rest of the library consists of a variety of shelves and books, each lazily organised into sections.

Everything in this library always looks so faded and soft, but that's probably just from the golden light that pours through the large wood-framed windows which cover the front wall of the shop. It's almost like looking through a golden hour filter, especially in the late afternoon.

This is the only library in the Middle that I visit anymore. I also think it's one of the most comfortable Lower-class owned businesses. All of the other libraries I have visited pushed too much of a modern structure, with self-checkouts, reading booths, clean grey and white colours and harsh artificial lighting. Not this library though. This place is perfect, comfortable, natural and even kind of chaotic with the loose papers scattered along the floor and the random stacks of well-read books. It's just homely. It's timeless... and loved.

"Good afternoon Oliver. You look a little lost there." The girl from behind the desk, Baylee, seems to be concerned by the amount of time I spent just standing there as I admire the sea of books, beanbags and papers. I'm kind of well-known here, so all the staff know me by name.

I turn the music in my earphones down. "No, sorry, I was just living in the moment," I smiled softly at her.

"Need another book?"

I nod, "Of course I do, Baylee, you know me."

"Right, of course," She laughs, "You may as well work here, you know we could always use a spare pair of hands."

"I know you're only joking, but don't test me," I say as I back away towards the shelves.

I weave through the aisles. I saw one book about a week ago, by an author who I found recently, that I've really wanted to read. It's one of those cliché love stories, which is a little different to the book I just read. But I guess that's what happens when you read so much, you have to jump through a few genres. From a darker thriller to a light-hearted fantasy. The only problem is finding it.

Almost all of the shelves can be accessed from either side so it's often difficult to guess which side your book will be facing. It adds to the beautiful chaos and gives me an excuse to spend more time roaming this timeless place. I found the shelf where the book I needed was, but it isn't where I remembered it to be. That makes the hunt difficult, it could be anywhere along the four racks of this one shelf. Or it could be somewhere completely different, maybe someone borrowed it out already or maybe it's still in the returns box. I search along the shelf running my fingers along the mismatched array of books, looking for anything familiar, a dark blue spine, a name. Hoping that I won't overlook the book the first time, I repeat the author in my head: Kaprice Pride, Kaprice Pride...

After several minutes, I came to the last book, at the end of the final rack. I sigh pushing myself up from the floor and start on one of the middle shelves again. Retracing my steps, I start checking the books with their pages facing out, too lazy to go to the other side of the shelf. I get lost in the action of removing books and replacing them, until I'm stopped by resistance. I peer through the shelf and meet someone else's eyes.