Mae; The Memoirs of Oliver King

Her

The library was silent, and almost empty save for the man with glasses who sat at the table by the window with several journals spread in front of him. I walked to the fiction section focusing in the call numbers on the sides of the books. I spotted the number and reached for the book my own large hand covered the small soft fingers that held the book by its spine.

My eyes slid towards the owner of the hand's face. Her eyes, her skin, her freckles, her hair, her lips and down, her breast, her hips, her bandaged knee, her ankles her feet. She slipped her soft hand out of mine and my heart ceased to beat.

She hid behind her hair, her beautiful warm golden colored hair, and shuffled back.

"It's yours," She whispered softly the words dripped from her moist and glossy salmon pink lips. Her voice was like heaven to the ears soft and dreamlike, I felt myself melt inside.

"Oh no you can have it," I took it from the shelf and held it out to her. She shook her head and blindly grabbed another book and shuffled away to the man at the table.

I watched as she knelt beside his chair, he turned towards her and brushed her hair from her face, she visibly shivered but didn't pull away. They exchanged a few words and he guided her to sit in the seat next to his. I sighed and looked back at the book in my hands, she was a taken woman. I turned to walk away, but a male voice behind me caught my attention.

"Ahem," the male voice said. I turned and looked at the man who stood behind me, he fixed his glasses that masked blue eyes identical to the girl's and his freckles were practically just as abundant. "My daughter would like that book, if that's alright?"

My heart leaped in my chest, so she wasn't taken after all and this was just her father.

"Oh, sure," I handed him the book that he accepted quickly avoiding contact with my hand.

"Thank you," he nodded curtly then shuffled back to her, pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head and sat the book in front of her. He took out a white bag that was embroidered with pink cursive and flowers. The letters spelled out 'Mae Amelia-Jean', a simple yet elegant name.

From the bag he pulled a pair of pink headphones that he put over her ears and hooked up to a pink iPod. Then he handed the girl a beat up cat stuffed animal and returned to his work. My eyes looked back to her as she rubbed her nose and flipped the book open. Mae, her name was Mae.