There are Certain Things You Can't Lie About Ms Hastings

Distance

Toby:

I didn’t speak to Spencer Hastings for two weeks after that day. I would pass her in the hallways, and we would give each other small smiles, but she never spoke to me or noticed me for two weeks. And in the space of two weeks, I would wake up feeling fresh but never satisfied with the day that was too follow.

     I mean, okay, yes we’ve only spoken once but it took years to get to that stage because I was always too shy to actually speak to her. Then when we did, I was confident in my own skin, but now? It’s back to the way things were. I was a man in a shell.

     And I don’t understand, did I do something wrong? When we parted in the library it was on a good terms but now it’s like it never happened. Did our conversation mean anything to her? It certainly meant a lot to me. I knew her favorite flavor ice-cream flavor, her favorite subject, what colour her coffee mug was, I knew so much about her but I was still so unsatisfied with what I had. I wanted to know how she coped with Ali’s death, I wanted to know every insignificant detail that was crammed into her brilliant mind, I wanted to know what attracted her to Ian, I wanted to know how her extra credit essay went on To Kill a Mockingbird. But most of all I wanted her to know and understand how similar we were to each other. We were both brought up in broken families, shadowed by our siblings and aching for attention from someone that wasn’t to blind to notice our desperation. We both used our mind to our advantage, acknowledging the gift we had and using that gift to excel towards greater things. There was so, so, so much she needed to know.     

     I was pretty sure no one had noticed my sudden mood swing, but on the 15th day, the librarian Miss Crawford came and sat down in the armchair next to me. I’d become a regular in her library, always sitting in the same red armchair, always reading fiction. Today I was reading A Bag of Bones and I was so absorbed in Chapter 13 that I didn’t notice her at first and she had to clear her throat before I looked up.

     “Oh, sorry Miss,” I closed the book.  

     “Toby, is everything alright?” Miss Crawford had bright round cheeks, brown curls and a south- American accent, which combined, reminded me of Annie from Misery.

     “Why would anything be wrong?” I said. Her soft eyes studied me.

     “Well you’ve been picking at that chairs stuffing for the past hour, keep going as you are and there won’t be a chair to sit on.” I frowned, looking down at the armchair. It looked like the stuffing had exploded.

     “Oh.”

     “Mm, now why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind Son?” I shrugged.

     “I’m just having a bad day.” I really didn’t want to express my problems to the school librarian. I rarely opened up to anyone and she wasn’t someone I was willing to pour my heart out to. She stared at me, unconvinced, but like the man with the broom and the brown beanie, sensed I didn’t want to talk to her at the moment. So, she stood up and pated my shoulder comfortingly.

     “Well if you need anything let me know.”

     “Will do Miss. Thank you.”