Right after Mannesh's Class

Downstairs in the Psych Library

I am one who carries my anger and frustration inside.  Eventually it manifests in some physicalization through one appendage or another, i.e. I may kick the shit out of something for five minutes before I remember why.  After listening to Mannesh force me into being his teacher’s pet, (like I need that extra bit of outcast status); I probably should not have gone into the library.  Normally, I’d just sit in my dorm and work my laptop, but net info is so fifty-fifty when it comes to this research.  “Books!” Mannesh says, “Are not editable daily by the numerous, neo-cons, anarchists, misanthropes, and home grown historians that pervade our binary world.” 

Needless to say I blew through the doors, with a bang, slammed my books down in front of some woman behind the desk, and made my demand, “Green River Killer?!” She manages to give me a look that says, shut-up you arrogant trust-fund baby. The rest of the trust-fund babies in the library are just annoyed.  She points to the bank of computers - all occupied.  “Aren’t you the librarian?”  The look shifts slightly, “Aren’t you in an ivy-league school?”  She’s good.   I’m in a rush, so I swallow it, and apologize for my rudeness.   She softens enough to print me some Dewey decimals.

The library is old, at least 130 years.  These are, as they say, Hallowed Halls.  The shelves are old oak, hand carved at the ends.  There is a huge fireplace at one end that never seems to be lit when I come, but I hear people talk about it all the time and how cozy it is in here in the winter.  I don’t see it.

I’m standing in the aisles; some guy’s fumbling with the front of his pants, checking me out.  Now here’s a chance for my look.  It‘s one that tells him not to even consider breathing in for a sentence.  He gets it, thank God.  How could he think people aren’t noticing this immensely attractive habit of his?

Alone!  I thumb through a few books: Search for the Green River Killer; Gary Ridgeway; The Riverman; why do these books always sound like movies of the week.  One slips out of my hand and falls to the floor.  I pick it up, now its cold and I can see my breath.  The book is dripping with water.  I look around and the aisle is dark. 

The bookshelves are stone walls covered in water as if from a rain.  The floor is cobblestone, slippery in its wetness.  I’m not in the Library now and I panic.  I find myself in a cobblestone alley at night.  There is no moon so I cannot see the top of the walls on either side of me.   I run to the end of it and I am in the Library again.  It’s still dark and everyone is gone.  The fireplace is roaring now and I see a man in front of it.  This isn’t cozy.  The man is staring at me.  I want to give my look to him too but I can’t think of how I do it.  He’s dressed in a long overcoat like he is going to a costume party.

I sense he’s about to speak to me so I hide myself back in the aisle.  The place is lit again and I see that the students are all back.  My panic begins to ease off.  All at once I need a drink and wish I never started.  I exhale and I can still see my breath.