Bikes, Beaches and Afternoon Waffles

04 | The Perfect Illusion

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❝ Welcome Home, Son ❞ by Radical Face

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I narrow my eyes at Casper and swat his hand away like a pesky fly, "What are you doing here?" I snap at him with a sense of bitter surprise.

"Getting some books to read," he answers calmly, "Isn't that what libraries are for?"

"Then you're in the wrong part of the library," I remark while pointing across the room, "The books with all the pretty pictures in it are over there in the children's section."

He smiles, "I missed that deprecating sense of humor."

While ignoring Casper, I continue gathering the books from the ground. I place them on the counter and then Agnes swipes them under the scanner. She notices one of my selections, "The Great Gatsby? You must have read this book a dozen times!"

"It's one of my favorites," I affirm, "F. Scott Fitzgerald is one of the best authors I've ever known. He writes with such passion - such poetic expressions of romance and tragedy. It's like his emotions are just poured out onto the page - his words are the ink. Certain quotes from his literature get stuck in my head for weeks. Fitzgerald really has made an influence on me."

She nods in agreement and hands me the towering stack of novels, "Enjoy your books, Chloe!"

I collect them in my arms and walk toward the back of the library. I make myself comfortable on the sofa in the lounge and prepare to sit here for the next few hours. With a novel in my hands, I glimpse outside the small window. It was very early in the morning and the sun was still hiding behind the distant mountains in the valley.

I exhale deeply to find a sense of relaxation. The room is silent and I had found my wonderful seclusion in the lounge area. After opening my book, I begin to read the lines within the withered, yellowed pages. The words are slowly decaying; the printed ink has faded from black to grey. The spine of the book is weak and the structure has deteriorated. The corners are bent, folded, and torn in some places. However, I believe it gives the book a special kind of quality.

As I turn one of the pages, Casper peeks over my shoulder, "What are you reading?"

Great... Just when I thought I had some time to be alone, the baby duckling incarnate decides to follow me. I sigh heavily and I don't bother to glance up at him, "Catcher in the Rye," I answer with a blank expression and a monotone voice.

Casper nods emphatically, "Ah, yes! I love that book. The way he just..." he pauses and clenches his fist, "Catches all that fucking rye."

I slam my book closed and glare at him, "Can't you be annoying somewhere else?"

"Not until 4," he replies with amusement, "What's your book about?"

I slowly open it and begin reading again, putting forth great effort towards not showing interest in the conversation, "I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you," I tell him.