Bibliotheque Blues

“Why here?” the question, usually un-noteworthy cuts the stoic, churchlike silence like a knife. Swiftly the stillness seems to expand to fill the gap once more and I, like a witness to some unspeakable crime, find myself compelled to look in the direction from which the offence occurred. Instantly my eyes are assaulted by a vision of utter horror, a scene so unspeakable that I slip behind a shelf and allow myself only to glance over a row of books and spy on the revolting scene.1

You stand in the doorway, between the magnetic receivers, with her beside you. A small Gucci purse in her left hand, your hand in her right and a scowl that could sour milk she looks around her, obviously seeing nothing that interests her. Unperturbed you lead her into the library, into our place and I slip further behind my defences. 2

Watching from behind the shelf my gaze follows you as you guide her to a distant part of the room and she stands, bored, as you browse through the new additions to the library catalogue. Briefly you pick up a copy of the latest Harry Potter book and I involuntarily recall how we used to read the earlier books together whenever we got the chance. That was then and this is now and I’m beginning to understand how Snape must have felt as a child. Banishing the thoughts from my mind I once more watch you stride purposely across the room, this time in my direction.3

Hastily I replace the copy of Hobb’s ‘Royal Assassin’ through which I had been leafing when you entered and made a break for the opposite end of the aisle, too late. “Natalie?” you whisper in my direction, far more appropriate than the piercing orations of your companion on entering. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”4

“That’s obvious” I reply, unintentionally letting the irritation I feel seep into my speech. Did you expect that I would never again enter this place where we used to spend time together? Did you expect that the act of bringing your new trinket to this place would cause all memory of past treasures to be wiped from memory? Even I am surprised by my sudden bout of hubris. 5

Any reply that you may have been on the verge of delivering is left unspoken as she draws up to your side, her uninterested facade only broken when she spots me and she allows a brief smile to adorn her face. Flicking her shoulder length auburn hair over her shoulder she remarks derisively, “Oh! Natalie, fancy meeting you here. Daniel and I were just looking for a something to read together while we’re at the beach this weekend.”6

Grudgingly I try not to bite to her statement but I can’t help the derogatory thoughts from flowing throughout my head. Would that I could be Iago to your Othello and cause you revile her enough to want rid of her. Death, I mused, would probably be too harsh an outcome. 7

As I struggle for some sort of response, some audacious discourse with which to riposte you startle me to silence. “Have you picked up ‘Nation’ yet?” you ask as you let your cotton covered shoulder take your weight as it touches the metal shelving. Your shirt sleeves rolled up you strike an impressive figure, one to which I was able to embrace as my own for over a year…until just three months ago. 8

“No, not yet,” I reply allowing a brief smile, “Dad’s been away for the last few days so I haven’t been able to get the money off him yet.” I don’t exactly know why but as we talk I find myself wanting to impress you, to find some way to win you back, even though I know things are over between us. Remembering your first port of call upon entering I find myself asking “Have you read Deathly Hallows yet?”9

“Of course,” you chuckle, “and told you so.” You make reference to an old discussion we were having as we read the series together and I can’t help but smile. Danielle on the other hand has no idea what we’re talking about and takes this opportunity to but in on my untimely reminiscence.10

“I thought you said we’d only be a minute Josh?” she probes, gently squeezing your arm, attempting to entice you away, “Sam and Jessie are probably waiting at the café.” She takes out her phone as if to check for some un-received message, flicking it closed with an audible “cluck” when she’s done.11

Perhaps unintentionally you let a low sigh and turn to her and nod slightly, “yeah, sure, we should probably get going.” Looking back to me you smile and enquire “see you around?”12

“Sure” is all I can think to reply as she pulls you away from me. Like a prisoner of war she guides you to the door and out onto the street, out of this world that we once inhabited together. I think, deep down, we both know that she’s not for you and perhaps neither am I, but even that thought can’t soothe the pang I feel in my heart.