I ran my finger along the rough fabric spines of the books in my library.
My library.
I smiled as I thought of those words, and me saying them.
My smile was replaced by a frown as the R's appeared. The T's would be up. Way up. I reached for the old wooden ladder and pulled it towards me, the wheels squeaking in protest as I did. I grabbed hold of the first rung and made my way up 15 steps to reach the top shelf. The Cherry Wood was dusty up here. I blew a big puff of air at the shelf, only to sneeze when the dust made its way up my nose. I sniffed and pushed myself and the ladder along the wall.
T...T...To...Tol... Aha! Tolstoy. I wedged the book in and gave it a mighty shove to put it all the way in. I took a deep breath. This was the life. The smell of old books and time filled my nose.
The Gwinnett County Library was old. Very old. The windows were intricately stained glass of angels and flowers. The shelved were 12 shelves high and made out of ancient Cherry Wood. All the books were classics. Or at least, old enough to be classics. My dad ran the library, but then he found a job offer for Georgia Power, so he gave the library to me, more or less. Even though it was property of the county, the GCPL was considered a family-run business. My mother had walked the same isles, along with her mother and her mother. My mom was currently in California for four years on a business trip. I pretty much kept to myself these days... There just weren't many people around to talk to.
I climbed down from the old, creaking ladder and shoved it to the end of the row, where all the ladders went at the end of the day. As I was making my way back to the front desk, something caught my eye. I turned and spotted a book, lying in the middle of the isle, face down and open, as if someone set it there to mark a page. I felt my eyebrows pull together in confusion. I thought I'd checked all the rows for books. I picked it up and looked at the cover.
Anywhere But Here
It was by Emily Harris.
I looked at the page that the book was lying open on.
In the darkness of night
We are sent out to find him
For he had been lost
By those who held him hostage.
We searched for hours until the sunrise
Of the Claiming Day.
We could search no farther,
But we had no need.
He found me
Through the Winds
The Water
The Fire
I shook my head, closed the book, and returned it to its shelf. I continued towards the front desk, grabbed the keys, left the building, and locked the massive oak doors.
~...~
That night, the poem ran through my head, over and over, backward and forward, this way and that. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get it out. Eventually, it formed itself into a little song. I could barely hear it playing in the back of my head before I finally dozed off.
