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“How do you know where to put those?” She asks curiously from the other side of the cart.
“Huh?” I was on autopilot and not paying attention “I was just checking the spines.”
“You know the Dewey Decimal System?” The astonishment in her voice is clear as day and I’m amused by it. I guess I cracked the code to impress a librarian.
“I spent a lot of time in libraries as a kid.”
“Me too. That’s why I became a librarian. My local library was my safe haven after my dad died.” Her confession hits closer to home than I ever would’ve expected.
“I’m sorry, about your dad,” I tell her sincerely.
There’s an aching in my chest wanting to tell her how much I relate to her, but I can’t. I’m already in this too deep, trying to connect more than I already have is selfish even though I’m desperate for it.
“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. He had cancer,” she explains. “My mom had a hard time dealing with it. Sometimes it felt too suffocating to be at home. My brother left and was gone for years. I was pretty lonely.”
Even though she looks okay after telling me that, I have to physically fight the urge to hug her. I move farther down the aisle to use the space as a barrier. Friends can hug, but I know once I have her in my arms it won’t be enough.
I should leave. I need to leave.
At the same time, I want to confess how painfully alone I’ve been my entire life. I want her to know that she’s not alone now in how she feels.
It’s like the words are climbing up my throat, dying to come out. I’ve never felt so inclined to share my past with anyone. I shouldn’t share it with her. I can’t open up to someone who doesn’t even know my real name.
“I would go to the library after school to do my homework, to avoid going to my group home,” I utter the words before I can stop them and my breath catches, waiting for her response. I’ve never told anyone that.
“Group home?” She asks, sadly.
“Yeah. I needed to use the computers for my homework and it’s where I did all of my research about the Army.” I add, attempting to steer the conversation away from my misfortune.
“Why the Army?” She asks subtly, picking up on my queue to change the topic.
“Eh, I don’t know. Long story short, it worked out the best at the time.”
She nods in understanding. She’s so easy to talk to that I’m afraid to spill something that I’m not supposed to. I need to say goodbye.
“Why kids?” I ask, changing the subject to her instead of leaving. I’m an idiot but the curiosity is eating me alive about the girl I’m undoubtedly interested in. The girl I shouldn’t be getting attached to.
“Kids are fun. They’re innocent, ya know? They don’t have the weight of the world on their shoulders yet, and if they do then I try to help them escape a little bit with the stories.” She snorts. “Sorry, that was kind of cheesy.”
“No, not at all,” I reassure her, hiding the solemnness in my voice even though my throat suddenly feels thick. “It’s great what you’re doing for them.”
It’s so impactful to have someone like her for the kids that she’s describing, the kids who were like me. I want to tell her that, but I don’t.
I’ve already pushed the limits too far and shared too much about my real self. I’m digging my hole deeper when I need to figure a way out.
“Well, that’s all of them. Thanks for helping me.” She pushes the cart toward a doorway that must lead to a storage room of some sort.
Lined on the wall next to it are framed photos of all the employees of the New Hope Library. One in particular of a beautiful familiar face with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She goes through the door, not realizing what I’m staring at.
Gotcha, Sunshine.
I stand closer to her picture, examining every little feature on her face. The way her lips curve into her signature smile and how her long dark lashes highlight her eyes. Without her glasses in this picture, there’s nothing for her to hide behind.
The brightness radiates from her and my chest aches painfully. She’s so pretty it physically hurts, especially because I know she’s unobtainable. She’s far out of my reach and it’s torturous.
Below her picture is a little placard, highlighting her achievements and her schooling. At the very bottom is what I was looking for: Thea Wolfe, Children’s Librarian.
My entire reality comes screeching to a halt. Thea Wolfe?
