Dear Library Girl

17

Caley

"The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well."

I closed the back cover and rested my hand on the book. We were a month into our summer vacation, and after hours and hours of reading, pounds of sneaky snacks (our spot was pretty well hidden from the rest of the library), and shared laughs and tears, Tyler and I had finally finished the seventh and final book of my favorite series. Tyler reached over and placed his hand on top of my hand. It looked as if we were swearing on a Bible. His fingers were warm, and much longer than mine. I knew he appreciated the ending as much as I always had by the way we sat in silence for a few precious moments.

"Even better than the movies. Thank you," Tyler said quietly. I placed my other hand on top of his, and three hands lay stacked on the book. He waited a few more seconds and added, "I don't want to read something different for a while. I'm not ready for that. Maybe we could read...Harry Potter fanfiction or something," and laughed.

I laughed, and little did Tyler know that a war raged inside of my head. I knew limiting my relationship with Tyler to friendship was wise, but it was one of the most difficult things I'd done. Sometimes if I thought about it too hard- and I did all too often- I swear I could feel the kiss I'd foolishly forced on him at Prom. I did want to hold his hand whenever I wanted and not worry about what it might mean. I did want to openly admit when we went places together that we were on dates. But even though these were the things I desperately wanted to do, they were also the stupidest things I could have possibly done. My brain constantly screamed NO, but everything else in me screamed YES YES YES. It was ridiculous. I needed to pick a side if I wanted to maintain my sanity. Perhaps I was emotional from the Harry Potter and wasn't thinking straight, but in that moment, I chose. In that moment, I allowed myself to be foolish.

"Tyler?"

He turned to look at me, still smiling from his joke about reading fanfiction together.

"It's not fair that I keep changing my mind, but just being friends is killing me. I don't want it anymore," I said, almost in a whisper. We were in a library after all.

His smile faded to seriousness. "Does that mean I can kiss you now?"

"I want to kiss you. I want it more than anything," I said. I want, I want, I want. I sounded desperate. I felt desperate.

He leaned his face towards mine and placed his long fingers on the back of my neck, thumb on my cheek, gently pulling me towards him until we met in the middle. It wasn't quite like the kiss at prom. We weren't surrounded by dancing teenagers and loud, pulsing music anymore. It was just the two of us and the bookshelf, and I slowly pushed the Harry Potter book off my knee and in front of me so it wouldn't sit between us.

Tyler put his other hand on the other side of my face, symmetrical to my other cheek. We still sat side by side, legs criss crossed and only our shoulders turned towards each other, but I didn't register the slight strain in my back because all I could think about was this. I could feel both of our lips curved up at the edges as we kissed, and I didn't have to open my eyes to know that Tyler was smiling. We were both smiling. I initially held Tyler's wrists as he held me, but as my spine threatened to straighten and force my lips to part from his, I held his shoulders so it didn't happen. What was air? Who needed it? We were composing symphonies, and I never believed I could pen something so beautiful.

The library closed at eight in the summer, and I kissed Tyler up until eight o'clock that day.

///

I went home with pink cheeks. Setting my book on the table by the door, I headed towards the kitchen for a glass of water. My mom was there, talking on the phone and leaning on the counter. I watched her as I dropped ice cubes into my cup and filled it at the sink, but she avoided my gaze and eventually took the handset into the other room. This could only mean two things: either she was on the phone with the landlord and it was about to get ugly, or she was talking to my father. I suspected the latter. My heartbeat sped and my breaths shortened, but I kept myself together enough that I tiptoed closer to the door, listening to my mom's conversation with my glass still in hand.

"Well, Colin, that's just it, isn't it?"

My god. My parents were speaking again. It didn't sound like a pleasant conversation, but this was only the first stage. When we first leave, they don't speak at all for months. Gradually, the phone calls start. They become more frequent, and they begin ending their calls with "Love you." Before you know it, Mom, Madeline and I are in the suburban on the way back to Arizona.

This was happening right now. My parents were reconciling. Any other time, any other place, I would be leaping with joy at this point. But this time, I found myself wishing my parents stayed apart, that my mother never went back. I'd never thought anything like it.

I went to my room and locked the door behind me. I squeezed into my closet and shut that door too, to ensure I wouldn't be heard crying. Racked with guilt, my chest heaved and I stuffed my mouth with my sleeve to try and muffle my sobs. It was the worst, most selfish wish I'd ever made, and I reluctantly took it back.