She is a mysterious person. Or so I've heard. They said she hid secrets behind those tortoise-rimmed glasses and whispered her past to those who gained her trust. Maybe one day she will believe me.
I find her different from other librarians, who are usually so strict, well, how do you say - like librarians. But this woman is different.
She is wearing pants. Soft beige corduroy track pants that flare slightly at the bottom. A baggy T-shirt with some brand I didn’t recognize printed on it. On her feet were leather Birkenstocks , and a braided anklet was securely tied around her right ankle.
Some people may say that you cannot judge a person by his fashion. But I disagree. I feel like people might look at me and judge me by my outfits. I dress pretty outrageously, but I like it.
The woman pushed the glasses onto her head, slim plastic arms pulling her silky blond hair away from her face. I can see her eyes now. Soft green, as soft as the first flowers of spring, but the setting sun occasionally catches them in a green flame.
Ah, she has me hooked. I find myself snuggling into this corner more often than I should. A wide window to my left offers a perfect view of the librarian through the bookshelves of historical wars and detailed books on how Christopher Columbus discovered America (fYo, he didn't).
I would love to know her name. Let her know mine. Take her to Chili's Café and buy her her favorite hot drink. Holding my hand and strutting down the street. Introducing her to my parents, I would cringe when my mom would show her a photo of her as a child, even though I would secretly love it. But shh, no one needs to know that.
I dreamed about this woman. Her face is so fair, yet different. Something about her attracted me. Like a siren, luring the hungry ears of sailors lost at sea.
I looked at her. She was crouched next to a young girl, her braids hanging from her head in the cutest way. The librarian's voice was quiet, but I could faintly hear the lyrical whisper in her gentle tone. She sent shivers down my spine, although the feeling was far from unpleasant.
She talked to the girl, with a relaxed smile on her lips, and helped the child choose a colorful book to read. They wandered over to a nearby couch, holding hands and walking briskly. She placed the girl on her lap, tucked her hair behind her ears, and began to read.
soft laughter broke the silence of the library. I turned around and saw two students giggling hysterically about some unknown thing. They were slumped over a thick textbook showing various equations and the art of calculus. My eyes returned to the woman. Although her expression was soft, her eyes still fell on the student. They looked at her with slightly red cheeks and smiled sheepishly. She smiled back, no trace of annoyance on her ethereal appearance. I admire her for that.
The day has gone by - way too fast if you ask me - and I find myself once again lingering in the doorway, racking my brain for something witty to say. I can't think of anything, what a surprise. I sighed deeply and turned to leave the library. The lights above me flickered on and off.
The parking lot was empty except for me and the librarian. I sat there, immersed in the whimsical music of ABBA and The Beatles. Yes, I like those classic ones. I wonder what music librarians like, maybe one day I will know. I was bewitched and she slid down the glass door, locked it, and rumbled into motion to start her silver convertible. She didn't even look at me. The seconds passed faster than I could count, and suddenly I was alone. Alone. Wallowing in the pain my thoughts were causing me. Sighing, I got in my car and slowly headed home.
The library smells clean. Intoxicatingly clean. I was soaked in the hygienic smell of disinfectant and Windex. And some coffee? I pulled the collar of my purple shirt and stepped out of the glass door. The librarian is at her desk, she looks calm. I didn't dare to go any further, I dared to disturb her and make the happy expression disappear from her face.
She placed a disposable coffee cup to her lips, her eyes closing briefly as she savored the rich flavor. Her eyes scanned me. Those emerald stones collided with the brown ones that I panicked about. She raised her slender hands and waved to me with a smile. I froze, though somehow through the haze of bliss clouding my mind, I managed to wave back.
As I stumbled over to my usual dining room table, I held every tiny detail of that moment in my mind. Her hair shimmered in the soft sunlight that filtered through the tall windows and focused on the carpet below. The mixed aroma of cleaning supplies, thousands of books, and her takeout coffee. Her smile, (the one directed at me!) the way her eyes crinkled slightly, and that dimple that instantly melted my heart.
Ah, I am a fool. I smile at the Christopher Columbus bookshelf, I may be a fool, but she smiles at me . What else does this simple heart need?
Time passed in blurry books I didn't want to read, eavesdropping on two middle schoolers chatting about how Carter nailed his finger a third time and how Grace was dating Boyd again even though he was wearing another girl's hair on his wrist. lock up. Boyd's audacity, I must say.
As the sun declared noon, I watched the librarians walk through the wide aisles and sort the various books. Her sky-blue dress was dotted with tiny white flowers, the thin fabric floating around her knees as she greeted an avid reader and an older gentleman who was never short of a Biggles novel. reminds me of the old days when used to mumble in my general direction while I flipped through another romance novel on the shelf, filling my head with unrealistic dreams.
I wonder if she is curious about me, if she is curious. Or maybe she'll forget I exist until the next time our eyes meet over stacks of books. Or maybe she loves me as much as I love her. Maybe she dreamed of reading her favorite novel to me, watching me smile softly as I devoured the pages just to get to know her a little better. Maybe she stared at me, hoping, hoping that I would be the one and that I would stop loving her from a distance and pull her closer. Or maybe it's just me. Yeah, it's probably just me and my overactive imagination.
I'm feeling tired, maybe I'll take some books home today, catch up on the work I've been putting off, and call it a day. Yes, I will do that.
I pulled books from the shelves, their covers suggesting mysterious worlds trapped between endless pages. I tucked them under my arm, smiled at the old man, and walked to the front desk.
I heard soft footsteps behind me, but I hesitated to turn around. I know it's her.
Just borrow these? Those eyes trapped me in their gaze, I felt paralyzed but I stood tall. I don't want to make myself any more stupid than I already am.
yes please . I said, placing the book of my choice in front of her. She smiled at me, tapped away at the keyboard, and browsed through the books.
I see you a lot here. she said, her eyes staring at the thick computer screen instead of my slightly crazy face. Does she know? Did she guess that I came here so often not just because of my love of books, but because of her?
What can I say, I laughed nervously, books are my weakness.
Okay, I lied, she was my weakness, not the books.
She grinned at me, an expression that was almost too much for my fragile heart to bear. That's what I like to hear. By the way, I'm Daisy.
daisy. This name is so fitting, I kind of want to scream. But I can't because she might get scared and never talk to me again. I wiped my hands on my green and white plaid pants and held out a hand.
Nice to meet you Daisy. She held my hand herself. Our skin collided in a tingling sensation. I laughed. Through the haze of joy that clouded my vision, I thought I saw my future.
