Includes the 2020 WATTYS SHORTS WINNER.
*
once upon a time
two people fell in love
they thought it was happily ever after
but
it wasn't
*****
Short stories about loss, love, and living in a queer sort of world.
Featuring the winner of the 2020 Wat...
First published on my Wattpad profile in the anthology "The Library".
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My mother would say my head's in the clouds, but she usually means it more metaphorically. I'm supposed to be going through the cart of damaged books, separating the fixable from those that need to be replaced, but I'd rather watch the clouds out the frost-feathered windows catch the last syrupy rays of the sun. I imagine dragons coiling through blushing billows.
Yesterday was Christmas, and most of the town is still buried under two feet of fresh snow recovering from the eggnog hangover. I like the library when it's bustling, when volunteers are reading stories to children and a teenager is discovering themselves in a book and even when yet another middle-aged person asks me how to connect their iPhone to the wifi. But I love it like this, just me and the dusty scent of books and all the time in the world to daydream.
As I watch, night tips across the glowing clouds like ink spilled by a careless hand. Under the glimmer of the waking streetlights, a muddy pickup truck bumps up the curb into the library parking lot. Tire tracks dimple undisturbed snow before it pulls to a stop beside my car.
The solitude was nice while it lasted. I busy myself with the tattered books on the cart. Torn pages, water damage, split bindings. The latter has a fierce dragon on the cover and is an old favorite of mine, The Dragon's Picaresque. A little tape and it might do for another few loans.
A gust of icy air follows creaking hinges and the day's first visitor rudely disturbs my precious quiet. Clomping snow from fine leather boots, they breathe into cupped palms to warm them. They're wearing a black wool coat with a turned-up collar and a prim tartan scarf. It's obvious they're not from around here.
"Welcome to Greenwood Library," I say.
They look up. The book cracks spine-first into my toes and I yelp.
"Hi, Bailey," they say. "Happy holidays."
"L-Lake."
My stutter always reappears at exactly the wrong time, but at least the right name trips off my clumsy tongue. They left behind their old name along with everything else from their childhood when they ran.
Their lips split in a smile. I might have thought it a peace offering if it didn't curl like wet paper in the corners. "Didn't expect to see you here."
I would smile back, but I never had Lake's knack for artifice. "Still here. Just like I was yesterday and the year before."
"Are you really a librarian now?"
I shrug. I've got a policy of not answering questions that have self-evident answers. At least, not for people who abandon their best friend for a more glamorous life far from their hometown. I pick up the dropped book. The fall didn't do any good for its broken bindings.
"That's great. Your dream job, right? Remember when we were like, eleven, and you spent the whole summer recommending books to people? Even the librarian forgot you didn't actually work here." While they speak, Lake reaches out and straightens the collar of my shirt.
