The Hanging Words

Ignorance is Blistering

Milo joins me at the library, although he does so with far too many questions. I understand his concerns, but there isn't anything inherently weird about wanting to use a public resource even if I have a perfectly good Internet connection at my condo.

I spy him waiting by the entrance as I approach. Well-fitting jeans and another sweater that makes him look like a clothes model in a catalog. His hair is somehow perfectly windswept by the icy breeze harassing the city streets, and I have half a mind to stop where I am so I can appreciate him for a few minutes before he notices.

But perhaps it's best if I don't linger for too long.

Milo waves when he spots me walking up, eyes filled with that bewildering excitement. I catch myself smiling as I wave back, completely unaware of mentally approving this involuntary reaction. He has a way of doing that to me.

"Morning," I say.

He catches me off guard by leaning forward and giving me a swift kiss. Despite the cold air, a wave of warmth rolls through me.

"Hey there," he says. "Didn't realize I was going to find myself in ancient times today."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Going to the library," he says, laughing. "I don't think I've been here since my kindergarten fieldtrip."

He winks at me, and my heart soars.

"More people should use the library," I say vaguely, not wanting to admit that I just wanted an excuse to get out of my condo. I didn't sleep a minute last night. Not after finding the knife under my pillow. I was tempted to get a room at a local motel, but my logically sound mind was convinced I couldn't leave my bed—though, if I were rational, I would've realized the comfort of the covers was ill advised, given the location of the weapon I'd found. Instead, I clung to the knife all night like a psycho serial killer lying in wait.

"I'm just joking, by the way," he says, his teeth all straight and white. "I think libraries are a great resource that deserve more attention—"

"Yeah, yeah." I wave him away. He's hazardously close to some earnest-sounding shit, and I don't have the emotional intelligence to navigate those waters at the moment. Milo laughs while I lead the way inside. We're assaulted by the aggressively comforting aroma of a million books. All the outdoor noises—the road, the wind, the people—are replaced by a thick silence that coats my ears like cough syrup.

"So, are you here to browse?" Milo asks.

I shake my head. "I'm gonna use one of the computers."

"Should I come with?"

"No, you should look around a bit," I say, trying to sound casual.

He cocks an eyebrow. "You invited me to come with you just so you could shoo me away?"

"Well—no, I just—I won't take that long, and then we can do something else."

"You're a weird dude, Felix," he says, squeezing my shoulder briefly. "Does that 'something else' involve making out?"

I stifle a giggle. "It can if you want it to."

"Alright, deal. Let me know when you're done. I'll be, uhh, perusing the DVD section."

"They don't ha—"

The tip of his tongue pokes out between his lips.

I watch him head off into the stacks, momentarily distracted by his retreating figure. Damn, if I've never seen a man wear a pair of jeans like that. I savor the miracle of an Adonis like him spending a minute of his time with a flattened toadstool like me. He even looks like he knows where he's going—no hesitation whatsoever.