Paperboy. (h.s. au)

05.

I like my job. I really do. But listening to Marie talk about her 68 year old man drama gets the teeniest, tiniest bit old sometimes.

He brought her flowers and kissed her hand and even made dinner. He sounds extremely chivalrous, I must admit. I find myself trying not to envy the old lady.

On another note, Marie has gone out with John four times now, and it's getting pretty serious. 

I was welcomed with the soothing sound of the coffee machine this afternoon as I entered the library. The ladies never let me drink any coffee, though. They wave their wrinkled hands and tell me that I'm "Too young to need that extra kick." I guess that's true, but sometimes I need something more than the juice boxes they keep for me. The juice box companies really need to make those in adult sizes. Maybe I'll save that letter idea for a rainy day.

I place my bag in its usual spot on a shelf under the counter up front and glance around the room. I hear someone shuffling around near the back, so I head in that direction. Fran is there in the classic section taking books off of their shelves and muttering something about ignorant kids who don't know how to put things back. Disrespectful bastards.

As soon as I'm within ten feet of her, Fran sighs, "Oh, nice to see you dear. Do me a favor and put these back where they belong, will you? Kids these days just don't respect this place." She shakes her head, forlorn.

I nod and take her place, taking in the mess. I sigh and begin working. Being in the library always seems to calm me. It's like being around books gives me a sense of security. There is so much information surrounding me that I barely have time to think about anything else. So many unchanging stories to turn to when I need to know that something- anything is still the same from the last time I checked. Books are far more reliable than people, and they are a very, very good replacement. I know this for a fact, as I have replaced a small number of temporary people in my life with books more valuable than the weak relationship I held with them. To Kill a Mockingbird in exchange for someone who did nothing but drag me down lower? Yes, please.

But some things just can't be replaced, you know? Like books. Books could never be replaced, in my opinion, by technology and things like that-even though our society seems to be trying to rule them out with screens and buttons. I do think books will triumph in the end. They're too pure. Too traditional. Have you ever needed to call customer support because your book was buffering for too long?

I suppose it's safe to say I don't embrace change too well. 

I push the last book into its rightful place and smile a bit, satisfied with how well they fit together on the shelf. Like puzzle pieces. Except they're not puzzle pieces at all.

I put my hands on my knees and push myself up off the hardwood floor. Usually by now the coffee pot needs to be refilled, so I take it upon myself to make some more.

The gang of old ladies must smell this, because, slowly, they all trickle out from the back room and herd around me as the coffee brews. I smile at this, knowing their love for this stuff. They all pour themselves a cup, and the bell attached to the door rings, putting a stopper on their moment. I excuse myself from the small crowd and turn to the counter. I feel a small, frightening spark in my stomach when I turn to see Harry's face gazing at the place around him. I stand there, suddenly forgetting how to speak. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. He must notice the slight movement, because he emerges from his stupor and smiles at me.

"Hello there." He says with a smirk.

Before I can even process a response, I hear Pat over my right shoulder, "Hello young man, is there anything we can do for you?" She speaks to him as if he is a child and I smile a little.