In The Library

Thanks for the Book Recommendations

I almost asked her what was wrong the first time I saw her crying.

I had been trudging back towards the librarian’s desk at the time with a copy of a children’s book.  I was going to check it out for my little sister’s book report as instructed by my mom. That’s when I heard a sniffle and looked over to see a girl.

She sat there at one of the tables by the window with her black hair hanging freely. It seemed like she was around the same age as I was. Tears were streaming down her face and took one hesitant step towards her. Then I saw the book she was reading and stopped. There she sat, oblivious to the world around her, crying in a large sweater and legs crossed on her seat as her plain black ballerina shoes lay on the floor, forgotten. I realized that she was crying because of her book and I was intrigued. I’d never read anything that had me even half as moved as she was in that moment.

So I took another quick peek at the title of her book and plunged right back into the shelves. Luckily for me, there was another copy of that book and I checked out the book this stranger was reading. And you know what? I cried — just a little — too. That’s how it started. 

I started willingly going into the library. No errands, no projects, no reports. I began to look forward to the silence of the library surrounded by dozens of books with this girl at her table by the window. Every time I would go to the library, she was almost always there, usually with a brand new book.

It was different each time. Sometimes she would smile and make the corner of her chocolate brown eyes crinkle in delight. Or sometimes she would laugh out loud in the library. The librarian even had to walk over and ask her to be quiet one time. That was the time I noticed that her black hair was actually dark brown as it got caught in the sunlight in the midst of her laughter. There were times where she cried again too. All those moments were the times that I checked out the books she was reading.

That’s all it was, at first. Curiosity for the books that moved this girl so much as she read them. And getting great book recommendations. Then I started to realize just how gorgeous she was. She wasn’t the magazine cover type of gorgeous but when she smiled it lit up her face in the best way. It made me want to be the reason for her smiles. 

I just wished she would notice me. Wished she would glance at the boy sitting just a few tables away when she tucked a strand of her long, dark brown hair behind her ear reading the book she was reading a few days ago.

Looking at her now as she sat there again at her table by the window with a cream coloured paperback book in her hands and the corners of her mouth tilting into a smile I knew well, I realized I didn’t have the guts to talk to her. I was afraid. Afraid that she wouldn’t be anything at all like what I imagined. Afraid that my fantasy was better than reality.

So I took quick note of the title of her cream coloured paperback and another look at her face and decided maybe tomorrow.

The next day, she came later than usual. I almost sunk in disappointment thinking she wasn’t coming today until I saw her walk to her table by the window. She sat down at her usual table in her usual seat and set down a large, bright orange paperback on the table and picked up the strangely titled paperback from yesterday to finish. 

Maybe today, I could work up the courage to go over to her and talk to her. Maybe I could ask her what she was reading. And maybe she would smile her gorgeous smile and tell me all about her book and then maybe we could talk about all the books that we’ve read.

I looked at her again as she flipped another page of her small paperback. Screw maybe. I would go up to her and ask her about her book. My chair scraped backwards an inch against the dark blue carpeted floor as I began to rise from my seat. Then I froze.

Right then and there she looked up from her book and smiled.

And in that moment, I sunk quickly back into my seat in disappointment.  A stranger made his way towards the girl a few tables away as she smiled brightly at him. He seemed older than me, maybe by a year or two. A college guy. He strode confidently towards her with his dark brown, ruffled just-got-out-of-bed hair and returned that gorgeous smile I loved so much with his own unsightly grin.

They greeted each other lovingly as he reached her. She affectionately ruffled his hair. He gave her a toothy smile. They spoke in whispers followed by a beautiful tinkle of laughter from her and a horrid chuckle from the stranger.

I had no idea how long I was observing them for when the stranger, all of a sudden, looked straight at me. His eyes were confused at first until amusement began to seep through and a smug smile formed on his lips. The guy turned back to her and whispered tenderly into her ears. Then to my greater annoyance, he placed a loving kiss on her cheek before suddenly sweeping her books off the table and hauling her out of her seat by the wrist. I didn’t pull my gaze away from the two as he held her wrist securely in his grip and pulled her out of the library and away from me. Before they disappeared from my view, he threw one last smirk in my direction as if to spite me. 

She didn’t come back in, as I had hoped, that day when that guy pulled her out of the library. She didn’t even go the next day I realized as I began reading her current book, waiting hopefully. However she did return the day after that, oddly enough, with the same two books from the last time I saw her. Something was different about her though.

She sat there with her feet firmly planted on the dark blue carpet in her usual black ballerina shoes and her cream coloured paperback in her hands. But she was distracted. And tense. She wasn’t lost in the story of her books and oblivious to the world around her like she usually was. I noticed her cheeks turn slightly pink. Was she sick?

I continued to watch her in concern as she placed her arm on the table and positioned herself to lean her head against her hand. As she did that, she let her hair fall to the side against her arm that held her head up. With her long, dark brown hair hanging against her arm like a curtain, her face was shielded from my view. Not long after, she picked up her two paperbacks and left the library, flustered.

For two days straight, she brought the same two books. The small cream coloured paperback and the large bright orange one. And for two days straight I watched her, flustered and distracted. Again and again, she didn’t stay as long as she usually did in the library.

She hadn’t even finished the cream coloured book when she had even made an attempt to start on the second bright orange paperback. And in those two days, it was a failed attempt. Strange. She usually finished a book first before starting a new one.

There was something wrong with her. I didn’t know what and I didn’t have the courage to go up to her and ask. So I just sat in my seat, flipped the page and continued to read the next letter in the small cream coloured paperback that was almost identical to hers.