Sketches

sketch 5: B

His hair is wild like Beethoven.

Looking decisively solemn, he leaves his seat of the library table and disappears among the isles of books. Five minutes later he comes back with a trunk load of books which he accomplishes in carrying with two arms – and drops the gigantic stack ever so gently on the table, and leaves again.

When I look up after another few minutes, I see him coming back with another slightly smaller load of books, but still a decent trunk full, to which he deposits them quietly on the desk. Then, ever so slowly, he arranges all of them into a standing position with one arm holding the first book’s position on one end while the other hand stacks the rest of the books with the first, one by one.

By the time he reaches the thirty-first and the final book (I counted), his arms are stretched to their maximum capacity with the tips of his fingers holding on to either end by a margin. His legs are spread too, I am assuming to maintain his position, and from the back he vaguely resembles a cartoon character that got plastered across a windshield.

I look on, heart in my throat, as he slowly pushed his assembly line along the other end of the table. It wasn’t till he pushes one end of the books firmly against the wall that I let out my breath, as one misstep would surely lead all thirty one books tumble to the floor like dominos. I then have to admire his ingenuity as he uses his backpack as a book stop for the other end.

As a final touch, he palms the bottom edges of the books such that no books would stick out.

I want to sneak a peek at the titles of the books to see just what sort of research he is doing, but to my disappointment the titles are facing away from me, so my view is limited to a tirade of colorful book covers and blank page ends.

I am guessing he is doing research on some kind of humanitarian, history, or art project, since no sane biology majors would waste time in a library where everything can be found online. I also thought it is interesting that I am currently typing up this passage instead of writing about my research essay; and Beethoven is sitting right across from me. 

It is currently 11:30pm on a Friday evening. I think I might go home soon since my productively has just gone through the window. Beethoven might still stay there for a while – he looks like the staying type. But then again, who am I to judge? I don’t even know this dude.