Touching Shadows

After Hours

COHEN

I'm in the gym at the high school I now apparently work at. I'm still wrapping my head around how I got here in the first place.

The gym is nothing special, but I needed to do something to fill in the afternoon. Plus I've been going hard on the booze the last few days and need to sweat out last nights efforts. I could have driven to the other side of town and found a gym that has more working equipment, but the peace and quiet is worth it.

Gerry gave me a master key to the school, so I can let myself in whenever I want. He knows me well enough to realise I'm going through some heavy shit at the moment, and I need some way to take the anger out. The gym is just as good as a bottle of booze, and I feel a lot more human after a hard workout. And definitely not as sorry for myself.

I've just finished my last set of deadlifts, and somehow I've found myself sitting on the bench, sharing at the pitiful creature in the cracked mirror in front of me. I look tired and pale. Nothing like I used to look, before all this. I need to do something, before this creature becomes a permanent reflection.

I stand up and towel off, turning towards my gym bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement out the window.

Who else has has no life and is here on a sunday afternoon?

I decide to check it out. Gerry said to be careful when the security system was down. Errant kids have been known to sneak in and pinch stuff to sell, or vandalise the buildings.

I walk out of the gym to the courtyard. Still nothing out of the ordinary. Walking building to building, checking through the windows for whoever it is, I still see nothing unusual. I get to the library and hear music.

Trying the door, I find it unlocked. Pushing it slowly, so as not to alert whoever is in here, I walk to the back of the library. Row upon row of books line the shelves, and the horrible neon globes are blindly bright in the otherwise dim building.

I step quietly past the shelves until I see her, sitting on a chair, legs up on the desk, belting out words to the song as if her life depended on it.

"...And I hate to say it, but you're perfect together
So fuck you
And your untouchable face
Fuck you
For existing in the first place
And who am I?
That I should be vying for your touch..."

Unless this chick is a full time man-hater... and she could be, the way she is spitting out the lyrics, she has had some guy really piss her off.

I watch her for a while through the shelves. She's obviously working on something in between spitting out the words to more feminist, anti-man songs. She is surrounded by papers and books, and is hunched over it, working almost as ferociously as she is singing.

I was curious about her. Assuming she's a teacher, she's much younger than all the other staff I'd met here last week. I'd put her at 24... 25 at the most.

She's wearing one of those crop tops that so many girls get around in these days. God, I sound like an disapproving old man! But I definately approve. I can see it cinching in at her tiny waist. Curving perfectly around her larger than average breasts. Red hair flowing down over her shoulders, and faded denim shorts.

I repositioned, trying to find a more comfortable vantage point. My observation spot behind a shelf, peering through a gap a little too low for me, was not conducive to long-term scrutinising. I tried to straighten and stretch briefly, but I lost balance and knocked the shelf. Before I could stop them, a bunch of books dislodged and fell to the floor with a thump.