Walks to the Library

by Sara MacNeil

We walked to the Ester Bone library one day when we both had nowhere to be and nothing to do. Although I usually walked there by myself, I shared this walk with him. I talked and while I was he interrupted with a comment about a nice car that caught his attention.

"I'm sorry. What were you going to say?"

"Nothing," I said.

We entered the library's sliding doors, holding hands. The warmth of the building allowed me to remove my pink and grey, plaid jacket and gloves. I looked over the surroundings, then at him. His belly protruded from the tightness of his pants trough his black, cotton shirt. I noticed him blending in with the others who waited in line, used the computers, or just browsed. I, with my pants rolled up to reveal my mismatched knee socks, didn't. This didn't feel like I place I should have to.

I made many trips to this library with who ever I happened to be seeing at the time, always feeling comfortable enough to split from them once we entered to reconcile and check out material later.

Him and I walked through aisles filled with books, devoid of life, only us breathing. We read the descriptions of various CD's and movies together. I pretended I was still reading after I finished, knowing that it took him much longer. I read aloud interesting quotes I found in books of well-known philosophers and asked him what he thought they meant.

Occasionally on our journey between shelves, we would loudly and awkwardly interrupt a lone someone who appeared to be searching for something. Usually they would ignore us. Sometimes they would glance at us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my lover's head move downward to stare at his feet, and shove his hands in his pockets.

Should we hide our happiness? I thought.

We looked at art books together. I lingered on photographs of paintings I found most intriguing, pretending I was unaware of his impatience. We sat down on the cushioned seats of two parallel chairs and opened a book on graffiti.

"I like graffiti because it's free art," he said.

I was the one with the library account and I agreed to check out whatever he wanted. I would let him take the material home with him, trusting him to bring it back by the due date. We checked out movies neither of us had ever heard of or seen before.

"You like weird movies," he said about one of my choices that we would later watch on my ten by twelve television screen.

Once we left the library to start our walk home, I became excited to listen to the CD we checked out and look at one of the books we didn't have time to look over while we were there, my steps revealing my eagerness.
 
I made him a sandwich in my 400 square foot apartment while he waited on the couch, listening to the CD. The sandwich I made was not just a lazy PB & J or a slab of meat with cheese. I filled it with what I thought would make him love me: hummus, tomato, and bell peppers.

Eagerness, mystery, and a lack of a voice didn't keep him interested for long. Maybe if I was quieter he would have stayed. My future walks to the library will be I on my own until I find another to keep my company.