experience up to a fling and
never want to see me again, but it turned out he thought our meeting was
something akin to fate.
Fate is for fantasy stories. The only happy endings are in
romance novels.
I stare at the flowers. They’re beautiful.
For a moment, I catch myself smiling. No, no. I’ll ignore
these, just like the voice messages and e-mails. I know better. A relationship
with him is doomed before it ever starts.
The gesture is sweet, though, especially since he remembers
I like white over red.
My head hurts from my indecision, so I grab a book from the
shelves lining nearly every wall in my apartment. Fahrenheit 451 . Haven’t
read this one in a while, but my choice feels right, suitable after tonight.
I snuggle under my covers and dip into the science fiction
world Bradbury created. But my mind can’t focus on the words, skipping around
like a record.
Sean’s smile and laugh illuminate the dark corners of my
imagination. And the visions of him are silhouetted by the girl turning the
page of the book, as still as if her body were but a shell, her soul sucked in
by the words on the page.
* * * * *
Dreams of the library burning wake me. Sweat coats my body,
and I shiver.
Screams. The books in my dream screamed as the fire consumed
them, wailing, pleading, begging for their lives. And I burned with them.
Perhaps Fahrenheit 451 had been the wrong choice.
No matter, it was just a dream. Simple enough. The dryness
in my throat refutes that simplicity – and the memories of the girl last night.
I take a deep breath, snatch the book from the night stand,
and hide it behind a row of books in the living room. I’ll finish it another
time. Yes.
Errands to do before work this afternoon. I move on with my
day, the flickering of a fading fire refusing to die out in my mind.
* * * * *
I walk into the library, tripping over the entry rug. The
student and the dream don’t want to release their hold on me. Normally I love
work – nothing like exploring the stacks and finding interesting new things to
read. I may prefer fiction, but even the nonfiction college texts hold
fascinating details, a world all their own.
But today, staying at home reading a happy book
sounds heavenly. Too bad I can’t take a personal day – too many spent on that
convention.
Light pours into the windows, brightening up even the
darkest corners. It eases my soul, and a warmth settles inside me. Nothing
wrong here. A library, filled with books. The definition of non-threatening.
I head to my desk behind the circulation counter. Before I
can situate myself, Fran appears.
“There’s someone here to see you. Supposedly he’s been
waiting a few hours.” A coy smile graces her lips. “In the reading room.” She
walks away, not giving even a hint as to who it could be.
The reading room is not where I want to start my day – especially
meeting someone who makes Fran smile that way. Couldn’t be work related, or she
would have been more forthcoming and less playful.
The warmth I felt after entering the library flees to the
hidden recesses of the mezzanine. No, he didn’t.
But I already know he did.
No use stretching it out. I suck up my pride and enter the
reading room.
Sean sits at one of the big tables in the center. At least
he’s not in one of the cubbies. His legs are propped up on the chair next to
him and a dog-eared paperback rests in his hands – too ratty-looking to be one
of ours.
I clear my throat, and for a moment I fear a repeat of last
night: Sean as unmoving as the girl, fixated on the pages before him.
But he turns, closes his book, and stands up, the smile on
his face tentative and shy. “Did you get the flowers?”
I keep my distance and squash the slow upturning of the
corners of my mouth. “Yes. But what are you doing here?”
“Well, you haven’t returned my calls...”
“This is my job, though.”
“I figured it was better than showing up on your doorstep
like the roses. And it’s been a
never want to see me again, but it turned out he thought our meeting was
something akin to fate.
Fate is for fantasy stories. The only happy endings are in
romance novels.
I stare at the flowers. They’re beautiful.
For a moment, I catch myself smiling. No, no. I’ll ignore
these, just like the voice messages and e-mails. I know better. A relationship
with him is doomed before it ever starts.
The gesture is sweet, though, especially since he remembers
I like white over red.
My head hurts from my indecision, so I grab a book from the
shelves lining nearly every wall in my apartment. Fahrenheit 451 . Haven’t
read this one in a while, but my choice feels right, suitable after tonight.
I snuggle under my covers and dip into the science fiction
world Bradbury created. But my mind can’t focus on the words, skipping around
like a record.
Sean’s smile and laugh illuminate the dark corners of my
imagination. And the visions of him are silhouetted by the girl turning the
page of the book, as still as if her body were but a shell, her soul sucked in
by the words on the page.
* * * * *
Dreams of the library burning wake me. Sweat coats my body,
and I shiver.
Screams. The books in my dream screamed as the fire consumed
them, wailing, pleading, begging for their lives. And I burned with them.
Perhaps Fahrenheit 451 had been the wrong choice.
No matter, it was just a dream. Simple enough. The dryness
in my throat refutes that simplicity – and the memories of the girl last night.
I take a deep breath, snatch the book from the night stand,
and hide it behind a row of books in the living room. I’ll finish it another
time. Yes.
Errands to do before work this afternoon. I move on with my
day, the flickering of a fading fire refusing to die out in my mind.
* * * * *
I walk into the library, tripping over the entry rug. The
student and the dream don’t want to release their hold on me. Normally I love
work – nothing like exploring the stacks and finding interesting new things to
read. I may prefer fiction, but even the nonfiction college texts hold
fascinating details, a world all their own.
But today, staying at home reading a happy book
sounds heavenly. Too bad I can’t take a personal day – too many spent on that
convention.
Light pours into the windows, brightening up even the
darkest corners. It eases my soul, and a warmth settles inside me. Nothing
wrong here. A library, filled with books. The definition of non-threatening.
I head to my desk behind the circulation counter. Before I
can situate myself, Fran appears.
“There’s someone here to see you. Supposedly he’s been
waiting a few hours.” A coy smile graces her lips. “In the reading room.” She
walks away, not giving even a hint as to who it could be.
The reading room is not where I want to start my day – especially
meeting someone who makes Fran smile that way. Couldn’t be work related, or she
would have been more forthcoming and less playful.
The warmth I felt after entering the library flees to the
hidden recesses of the mezzanine. No, he didn’t.
But I already know he did.
No use stretching it out. I suck up my pride and enter the
reading room.
Sean sits at one of the big tables in the center. At least
he’s not in one of the cubbies. His legs are propped up on the chair next to
him and a dog-eared paperback rests in his hands – too ratty-looking to be one
of ours.
I clear my throat, and for a moment I fear a repeat of last
night: Sean as unmoving as the girl, fixated on the pages before him.
But he turns, closes his book, and stands up, the smile on
his face tentative and shy. “Did you get the flowers?”
I keep my distance and squash the slow upturning of the
corners of my mouth. “Yes. But what are you doing here?”
“Well, you haven’t returned my calls...”
“This is my job, though.”
“I figured it was better than showing up on your doorstep
like the roses. And it’s been a
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