"I like libraries. It makes me feel comfortable and secure to have walls of words, beautiful and wise, all around me. I always feel better when I can see that there is something to hold back the shadows." - Roger Zelazny, American poet.
-Seven months ago-
Dallas is driving, I'm in the passenger seat, and Maggie is in the back reading a book. I envy her ability to read while in a car - I'll get car sick if I try.
We don't know where we're going. We aren't lost we just don't have a destination. Before we left, Mom took every one of the old jars that Dad used to store things in and tossed them. Thank God she didn't toss the ones in my room. She then proceeded to cry that they were gone and sat on the floor, wailing and unhappy. It wasn't a pleasant sight and thankfully Maggie was still outside looking at bugs. I called Dallas and asked if we could leave so that Maggie didn't have to see mom inside.
Now we're mindlessly driving to the city, searching for a place to stop. We don't see anything for miles until I see a small, white sign on a backroad.
"Let's go to the library!" I say excitedly.
"I love libraries!" Maggie yells.
"Let's go," Dallas turns where the sign tells him to and drives for a few more minutes until we reach a white building with lion statues beside the door. It looked tacky and fancy at the same time, it was almost comical.
We park the car and I rush out, opening Maggie's door and grabbing her hand, telling her to leave the book in the car. I don't need to hold her hand but this way we can move at the same pace and get to the door as quickly as possible. She's always been a slow walker.
Opening the large doors, Dallas isn't far behind. He gasps when he enters. The shelves were tall and wooden, the books were plentiful and took up the walls of the small building, and a short woman sat at a high desk behind a computer.
"Hello," she greets us. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"We're just looking," Dallas answers. He's a kind person because, though many people wouldn't take notice, he answered due to the fact that Maggie and I don't particularly enjoy speaking to strangers. Maggie less so than I. "Thanks, though."
We take our time to admire the architecture of the small building and read the back of books we've never seen before. Maggie takes a book and brings it with her to sit on the singular chair in the corner. The librarian thankfully ignores us.
"I like this place," I say to Dallas.
"It's clean," he points out. "No disorganization or dirt piles that are never swept."
"When have you ever seen a library like that?" I ask in disbelief. Most libraries are lovely.
"The one at school is like that," he says. "It's horrible."
"It's not that bad."
"It is. The grade sevens will just run about and mess everything up and it will never get fixed."
"It sometimes does," I laugh when he glares at me.
"It never does. I can't believe the custodians let it get that way. I hate it there."
-Present day-
I like libraries. When I was younger Mom would take Maggie and I to the local library once a week to take out two books each, no more in case they get ruined or lost, which they never did because we cherished them. I would love the smell of a book, the way the paper felt beneath my fingers, and the way my imagination would run wild whenever reading them. Dad would always chat up the librarian and jokingly tell us to run, that perhaps the worker won't catch us and we can keep the books without checking them out. We never did. Instead, we waited in line like everyone else, checked them out, and brought them back the next week.
Dallas likes libraries as well, however he hates the school one. He has told me the reason behind this is because the librarian doesn't do her job properly and puts books in the wrong order as if she never learned the Dewey decimal system and can't sort by author or by the alphabet or genre. All of the books are just randomly placed throughout the room, scattered and disorganized. That, and the place is never cleaned properly.
He's not entirely wrong but he doesn't have to be so dramatic about it.
"Has Dallas told you about me?" Harper asks once we sit down. We're near the fantasy section. The librarian is blatantly flirting with Mr. Portman, the automotive teacher, so she won't pay us any mind and it's basically like we're alone.
"Yeah," I admit, "He said you were a dick and addicted to drugs."
"Way to be blunt, Rose," I hear a whisper in my ear. I raise my hand to scare whatever insect it was away. It didn't bother me again and I didn't get to see what it was.
"I used to be," he shrugs as if it's no big deal.
"You didn't seem like one when we talked in biology," I say.
"Like an addict?"
"Like a dick."
He smiles, probably happy I'm not trying to talk about his past regarding addiction and sobriety.
"I'd like to think I'm not one," he says.
"Why did you want to go to the library?" I ask, changing the subject. It's impossible that he hears the bugs but I just wanted a bit of clarification.
He leans close and speaks quietly into my ear,
"Voices in my head told me," he says lowly, backing away from me and waiting for my reaction.
I don't respond. I can't. He heard the bug. He can hear them just as I can and they told him to go to the library like they did me. Should I even be in the library? Is this some kind of set up where I'll be ambushed by bugs? "Kidding."
"What?" I gasp. I didn't realize I was holding my breath.
"I'm kidding, Rosalie," he repeats himself. "I enjoy books and figured it would be a quiet place for us, plus Dallas told me he hates this place 'cause it's always dirty."
I suppose it's not the cleanest place in the world... the librarian doesn't really clean up after the middle schoolers come and they absolutely trash the place every time. It's not entirely her fault, the janitors don't want to clean up the place, either, because they claim they 'have no time.'
"Oh," I don't know what else to say. "That's good."
He was joking.
He doesn't hear bugs, it was all just a joke, he didn't mean it.
We quickly change the subject to interesting literary fiction we've both read. I rambled on and on about how The Giver seems to give off pro-life messages and how Of Mice And Men is pro-euthanasia. He disagreed with both statements but didn't give arguments as to why I was wrong. I suppose arguing with someone who doesn't know the story is better than being paranoid with them about the possibility of hearing voices.
The bell rings. I gather my things and rush to my locker, suddenly wanting to be alone. Alone so nobody can talk to me - no bugs, no used to be drug addicts, and no Dallas. No one.
"Why weren't you at school today?" I ask, speaking on the phone.
"I accidentally had lemon juice yesterday," Stella explained. "It was in a salad I bought. I had to get rushed to the hospital because, you know, allergies. I got home at one in the morning and was tired as fuck so I stayed home. What happened today?"
"Not much," I answer. "Dallas's cousin seems nice."
"I hear he's a good guy," she says excitedly. "Did you two hit it off like I said you would? Is he cute?"
"Well Dallas told me he was a dick," I don't understand why he would tell her he's a good guy and tell me that he's not. "And yeah, we had lunch together in the library... talked a lot about books. He's alright looking."
"It's so weird that Dallas said that to you, he told me Harper was great. I'm glad you like him, you could use more people to talk to. You do like him, right?"
I don't need more people to talk to because all the people at school have the potential to converse with me and choose not to. It's okay, though, because I don't talk to them either. Stella needs to stop trying to get me to, however, because after this year it won't even matter - I'll hopefully never see any of their faces again.
"Yeah, I do like him," I admit.
"Good, he could use a friend. Apparently, he just got out of rehab and was a drug dealer, so I'm not sure how many people will talk to him."
Stella likes to gossip. I basically know everyone's deepest secret by now, though I already knew Harper's. Apparently, there are two girls in our grade that are pregnant, a boy who hasn't come out as bisexual yet, and someone is running a drug ring using the tampon dispensers in the girl's bathroom. I don't even know any of their names.
"I'm sure if Dallas doesn't go around spreading it then nobody will know. Speaking of Dallas, he was kind of mean to me today."
Perhaps I shouldn't be telling Stella that her boyfriend pissed me off because then there's a possibility she'd second guess her proposal. Then again, if she doesn't know that her future husband can be an asshole then she shouldn't be marrying him at all.
"How so? Do I need to give him hell?"
"Yes, please. I said that we didn't have to tell each other everything, and he said that he already knows everything about me so there's no reason for me to not tell him every detail of my life. I just meant that maybe sometimes we can keep things to ourselves, and he decided that he would tell me every bad thing in my life to make a point that he knows me - I have no friends, a crazy dad, and a mom who's never here. It was just... mean."
"Oh, babe, you do have friends. You definitely have me, I don't know where I'd be without you. You met Harper today, maybe that can be something. Screw Dallas, I'll talk to him."
I take notice of how she didn't mention anything about my parents. She probably didn't want to open Pandora's box. I respect her thought process
Sometime's I feel like I need to open Pandora's box, though. Let it all come out and have the world suffer with me. Have everyone feel what we, Maggie and I, feel when they mention our dad, when they question why we have no lunch, or make fun of us for anything, especially the things at home we cannot control.
But that would be cruel.
"Thanks, Stella," I can't help my voice breaking. Part of me thinks that I'm just being sensitive and he didn't mean any of it.
Or perhaps he's actually a piece of shit that will stab me in the back every time he can't control me. I've never really stood up to him before so it's not like I'm speaking from past experience, but this seems like a possibility.
"No problem. I'll make him eat shit like that maid from The Help," Stella laughs. Stella and I had to watch that movie just last month for history class - it was brilliant, informative, and made you look at racism and classism from different angles. We couldn't help but laugh, though, when Minnie put crap in the pie.
"Hypothetically?" A part of me hopes she's telling the truth because it would be a hilarious outcome and a disgusting story - just as I like them.
"We'll see," she smiles, but I can tell she doesn't mean it.