Amy's Library
It was nearly closing time at the library. Aside from a few researchers and college students, the majority of the visitors had already left. Most of the staff had also said good night by then, and the remaining librarians were waiting at the front desk for the last readers to check out. Some of them argued over where to go after locking up, and whether or not to have a drink before heading home. Only one of them was still working.
Amy had a stack of new arrivals next to her keyboard and was occupied with creating their records in the database. The process of classifying each book along with finding the best tags to describe them required her full attention. She ignored a call from her dad, and didn't respond when her colleagues were talking to her.
"You're a saint, Amy," said a male voice. "I don't feel like doing anything."
After she had moved every book from one side of the keyboard to the other, she picked them up and went to put them in their rightful places. The tower of stacked books only rose to her breasts, she could still manage it by leaning backwards a bit -- she didn't need the trolley.
"Hey, if you bump into anyone, tell them to hurry. I'm thirsty."
The night was dark, cloudy, and starless. From the 2nd floor's grand windows she could see the tops of the streetlights and the people underneath their orange rays, who appeared to be mere walking scalps. As expected, no one looked up to see her shining glasses; to meet her curious gaze. The lights of the study hall were dim enough to find a title, but strained the eyes of anyone reading. For that purpose they provided desk lamps. The shimmering pages beneath those green shades indicated the whereabouts of the
owls
-- a name they gave the evening readers. By that time they were tired and leaned close to the texts, as if their spines couldn't support them anymore -- as though they could fall asleep at any moment, drooling on the paper. Despite their lack of energy, they had a reason to push themselves. Amy paused to watch them for a brief second, taking a breath before walking forward. Usually she only saw their hunched over backs or the straps of their bra through their shirts; their hair flowing down to the paragraphs and pictures, shining in the light. Their hands balled into fists, holding their heads up. They didn't look up until Amy spoke.
"Please, Miss Brooks... just a couple of more minutes!"
Other than pleading such as that, nothing broke the otherwise complete silence. The massive wooden bookshelves absorbed the sound of their rushing pens, the buzzing of the bulbs, and the students' footsteps when they finally left. Amy also became muted, and roamed the heavy rows like a ghost. However, in her case, practice and caution had amounted to being as noiselessness and transparent as only a natural librarian could be. Nobody would have noticed her at all if she hadn't had to warn them it was time to leave soon.
To optimize her route, Amy sorted the stack of books beforehand by their subjects, and then sorted the list of subjects based on their locations in the maze of the library, advancing from the nearest shelves to the farthest. Despite her prudence, she had to adjust on her path when she found lone, forgotten books which needed to be taken back where they belonged. There were more of those than new books in her hands, but it was unforeseeable. It was an easy way to let time fly by: always discovering new ones, but only one by one. She squeezed them back into the densely packed rows, looked for the ladder, then got back to her duty, trying to remember where she left of. The ink and the dust from the covers, pages, and shelves colored her fingertips black; and maybe some sweat and fat from the visitors' hands, which used the paper and the wood as a proxy to get to her.
Old books in particular could make one wonder about the origins of its dirt. Like the tome she met near the end of her chores. It was a thick piece with a stiff, leather binding, the kind with a sticky feel, as if it was a living being with skin, and the edge of the pages had a gray marble pattern on them. From up close, it had a pungent odor. Countless readers and librarians must have passed it on to one another for hundreds of years. It was not only a collection of thoughts, but also a vast gathering of breaths and touches; handshakes shifted in time. The lettering was something she couldn't make out -- it could have been in a foreign language, she couldn't decide -- but based on the classification number she knew where it belonged.
The forlorn room was at the far edge of the building. It was packed with these sorts of books in intimidating heights and masses. Here, the ceiling lights were off. The illumination of the city loomed in through the windows and painted yellow stripes on the black canvas of the wooden floor. A desk lamp with a green shade beamed in a corner, in the cover of a shelf. Amy's flats approached the owl without making the floor creak. Her skirt was blowing, but didn't swish.
She still had the book clasped to her stomach when she stopped. There was an unusual sound. Its source was close enough to be heard, but remained hidden to Amy's eyes. A humming without any identifiable melody, only a crescendo followed by a decrescendo; someone moaning. Then a swallow, a tongue being dipped in a pool of saliva.
"I can't do this any longer," said a woman.
"Just three more months," another woman replied.
Amy put the book down and hid behind the shelf. Through a narrow line above the tomes she could observe the two women. One was soaking up her tears with a tissue under her glasses, and the other had an arm around the weeping one's shoulder, pulling her close.
"It doesn't matter... my parents..."
Both women looked down at the piles of papers laying before them. It seemed like they had come to the library to search for the answer they needed, and it was there somewhere among those lines. There was a long pause. Their faces told Amy this wasn't the first time they'd had this argument. They looked exhausted, out of hope to push forward, to find a solution, or at least to sustain a delusion to live in. Amy removed a book from a lower level to get a better view of them. The row on the other side was sparser, she could see their entire bodies. The desk was at eye level this way, a thin line which cut them in half, separating the woolen sweaters from the crossed legs.
"Then we'll move. A new town... maybe a new country," the older one said.
Amy was crouching. Her skirt flowed down to the floor, forming a circle around her. She had pulled out her phone and waited, holding onto the edge of the shelf to keep her balance.
"But your job... the university..."
The woman smiled, playing with a lock of the younger one's hair as she looked up to her in anticipation.
"It doesn't matter. I'll find something else... maybe in the private sector. Either way, it's time for me to make a sacrifice. But don't get sidetracked. You still have to graduate."
"You promise?"
"And one more thing. Keep calling me professor. I cannot live without that."
The young woman hugged the Professor and dug her face deep into her hair. From the shaking of her shoulders Amy could tell she was sobbing.
