True Identity

“Yes, read that book, it’s the best. The writer did total justification to the characters through the plot” I suggest a book to my friend sitting in the library.

         “Ok”, she nods and walks away.

         “I wonder if they have another copy of it.” worries my friend.

         “Don’t worry the head librarian will surely have some in the storage” I try to reassure him.

         “Maybe, will check with him,” she says and walks away from me in search of the head librarian.

         I was yet to correct her saying it’s not him, it’s her and it’s a she, but she was already gone.

         The next week, while I sit in the library preparing for semester exams. I overheard a gang of three boys probably a year younger than me describe how hot the librarian was. I assumed they spoke about a new staff member whom I haven’t met yet.

         Another week went by, and the university began to allow locals and mostly elders to visit the library just on the weekends. This new change took place as it was part of the amendment to which the university had agreed before the local library was demolished by the government.

         It was Sunday, a day in the week, when the library is pretty much empty, for students would be busy with parties, trips, or part-time, and elders would hibernate and re-generating their energy for the upcoming week. The elders didn’t have much choice but to visit it on this day for they aren’t allowed on the weekdays.

         Despite the norms and the huge elderly population in the area, the percentage that visited the library is minimum. It was fun, watching people at that age, turn up to a place to read despite the little time and energy they have in their life. Since then, Sunday became a library day, as their efforts to just turn up to the place were a great inspiration to me.

         During my free time, I try to help older people with books. Probably this was the day when the library seemed nosier for no librarian holds the power to handle elders who past the stage of getting convinced.

         A couple of weeks passed by, and people found me approachable, they reached out to me for doubts and clarifications, and a few even came to me with a book and a request to read it to them. It was a new experience. Reading a book to the baby is something I have heard often about but to an elder, a fully grown person with wisdom and experience, I wondered if could read to their satisfaction or if my storytelling skills could please them. I could feel the butterflies in my stomach because of my excitement about the experience, at the same time it also rumbled due to the tension I went through.

         Years ago, back in high school, my literature teacher spoke about a character in a book who experienced both happy and sad feelings. I wondered to what extent the emotion could be true and it seemed impossible to feel two opposite emotions at the same time. But today that question got its answer, and I feel it, both, at a time, in my stomach.

         The day seemed longer than usual to me, for they haven’t just listened to the story but shared their experience as well. And the session that I assumed to be just reading turned out to be a sharing session. The conversations went on for hours, and a few began to bicker but lucky me, the assistant librarian took care of the situation before they turn the library upside down.

         They all dispersed muttering and murmuring. But, one of them said, “if the head librarian was there, she would understand”. While the other said, “he might have taken his side.” And the third one spoke of the head librarian as his youngest daughter, “she wouldn’t betray her grandpa and take his side for sure”.

I was taken back by the way they all addressed her, it differs from one another, and no one bothered by it, except me. For a second, I thought I misheard. But it wasn’t coming from just one. A couple of weeks ago few students spoke as if she was a hotty, and the other time someone addressed her as a boy. People speak of her entirely differently, not just gender but age, and few even find a relationship with her. This seemed surreal. Single person and multiple identities may as well be infinity identities considering the number of years she had been working and the number of people she had met so far. Millions of identities and why no one who spoke of her never felt the difference. Why was I the only one, who could find the difference?

“If you speak too much, I will call her.” Said one old lady.

“If you call him, he will listen to me,” another said

“She might be busy with her classes, let’s not disturb her” spoke the other.

“Elders should know better not to drag kids into it,” said the other.

Their bickering vanished in time, but their words echoed in my ears for hours. “She” “her” “him” “child” “class to attend”, I couldn’t conclude with it. The more I keep my mind to it, it hurts my brain as if something is stopping me from drawing meaning from it. But I convinced myself not to think that way. Multiple identities of the same person going unnoticed by many individuals themselves are enough to kill my brain. Adding some supernatural powers to it and imagining that my thought process was obstructed would be a nightmare, that I wouldn’t like to face. So, I settle to I am tired and need a coffee and good sleep.

For the next couple of weeks, I didn’t visit the university library on weekends. I crossed paths with the librarian employees in the canteen during lunch and break. Although the timid version of me wanted to avoid the head librarian. The other part of me is eager to get a glimpse of her original self at least once.

On the weekdays, I could find only the regular employees but not the head librarian. A few times, she would be busy with the government officials discussing matters related to the library and locals. Other days, she would investigate statistics on the percentage of ebb and fall in the student and outsiders’ visits to the library. She indulges in productive activities that help to conclude which author’s books need to be stocked and which are to be taken out of the shelf. Organizing stocks and destocking is also her main duty. Although she doesn’t have to do it all by herself, that’s how busy she keeps herself. During all this time I think about her, I am still unaware if she is, she or something entirely different.

As usual, I couldn’t find her the day I visited the library. I grabbed a seat that lets me keep an eye on the entrance and unlike the other day I kept myself immersed partially in my book and kept checking the entrance now and then.

The clock turned from a.m. to p.m. but there was no trace of her. I skipped my lunch and continued to wait for her, for I am sure that her schedule today had a library visit and records check.  

She finally enters the library, in my eye, she was a slightly older lady, around the age to retire soon, with spectacles hooked to the rope that hung around her neck. She looks, mildly bulky as if with little attention she could get back to shape. She wore her regular white blouse paired with a black jacket with Chinese colors and white beads around her neck. She wore a black skirt today that ran till her knee and matched all of it with a pair of formal high heels. Most of all she reminds me of my grandma, who once I cherished and whom I miss even today. But how much of what I see is true, I wondered.

I look around to find people who look at her, and I find a glow on their faces as if they had eye contact with a familiar person, someone near and dear, maybe a friend or even a family.

It was amazing, it felt great to see the glow on their faces. A fresh and lively feel, true from the bottom of their hearts. But the fact that it could be an illusion or just a trick, turns the beauty of the moment to dread.

I tried speaking about what I saw as I see the librarian with the guys who saw her as a sexy young girl.

“She seemed old and might retire soon,” I spoke

“Yeah bro, too young but might graduate this year,” said one boy among their gang.

“I saw her walking by the old age home last night” I made up a story.

“She was seen by many at the parties, last night,” said the other.

I knew by now that everyone saw her as a different version in their head, and any communications about her identity were also transferred as per the version they see. I knew it all in my head, but I had to witness it myself.

         On the school annual day, there would have been many things one could have done, I choose to visit the library. It was the day, that even the most popular bookworm of the university would indulge in activities related to subjects that interested them. But I choose to visit the library.

         Despite the facts, I was still expecting a student or two but to my surprise, I found it locked. The door was chained and locked with a closed note tucked in between the chains.

         Although it could have been a normal thing, considering that the entire school is busy with the feast events, either by participating or conducting them, and with near to zero students visiting it, it is best to be closed rather than open and leave it unattended. But I found it suspicious, for everything related to the library now seems to be a mystery to me.

         I considered shaking the door but that didn’t seem sensible, specifically if I must find something in there that helps me solve the puzzle.

         I tried other entries, but all the student entries are shut, except one, which is a staff entry. On a day like this that is the only one that could be open. I am glad I know the area for so long. I thought I might have to sneak inside and walk like a spy, hiding, flipping, eyeing every corner of the room and all. but the door opened with just a push, not even a lock as if it was waiting for me.

         I entered it with no more a due and began to look around. It’s a normal library with a staff door open and absolutely no staff in any of the staff areas: Entrance, stock room, register table, organizing shelves, staff room, absolutely none and nowhere. I kept roaming trying to find someone or something. But I found nothing. Just then when I decided that today isn’t my day and return to my dorms. I heard a sound. A sound of a child, singing more like humming. I was scared, my hands and legs trembling, my arm’s hair turned straight and stiff as if anything that touches it will bleed as the hair pierce into them. I kept walking backward, trying to stop my brain remember all the haunted movies and dreadful scenes in them. My face still facing towards the direction from where I believed the music is resonating. A few steps backward and my legs touch something, not a thing but someone that’s alive. Hoping it was not what I heard, I turned back only to find a girl. The girl is in a frock, her hair plaited into two, one to the left and the other to the right, her socks are pulled up till her knees, and her feet are covered in white shoes. She seemed immersed in playing with her toy. I ran, screaming “AAAA” everywhere. She didn’t move an inch.

         “So, you finally found me out,” she said, still toying with her doll.

         That’s when I understood she is the librarian I am in search of. Yet, I couldn’t utter a single word. I kept watching her, as she played with the doll in her hand.

         “Why me?” I manage to mutter.

         “I wonder why?” she smirks.

         “Don’t panic, take a seat” she says, her voice still childlike but the bass in her voice is adult-like.

         When she raises her chin, shifting her attention from her toy to me. It was the first eye contact I made with her this day. At that moment, I see her as the older woman I see every other day.

         Many of my questions are answered.

         Everyone that made eye contact with her created an illusion that they wanted, and from then on they continued to see her the same way.

         She smiles as she notices me figure out what has happened.

         But many questions were raised as well. I was scared but I needed the answers, so I began to question.

         “I already have an illusion version of you in my head, then how did I catch you in your true form?”

         “That’s because you heard about different perceptive of me and a bud of suspicion was planted in your heart. That wavered the spell.”

         I node in acknowledgment.

         “Is this your true identity?” I ask

         She gives an expression, which seemed to say, after catching me red-handed you still have that question.

         “Sorry” I respond.

         “Why was I able to hear about your other forms only recently, while I have been visiting this place for a couple of years?”

         “That was a glitch, I fell ill and couldn’t keep up the spell. Meanwhile, a couple of the students happen to hear about my other forms, but only you made it till here”

         “That seemed more like a fantasy story” I laugh.

         “You are in one right now” she turns serious.

         “Yeah” I agree lowering my voice.

         “So, why a disguise?” I ask.

         “Obviously, for safety,” she says playing with the toy’s plaits.

         “From whom?”

         “From humans.”

         “I am one too.”

         “Of course, you are.” She answers with joy as she completes the toy plaiting. But when she turns to find a rubber band to tighten the plait in the end, I could see her hair is redone matching the toy in her hand.

         “Wooow” the words come out without a warning.

         “What?”

         “Nothing. Why do you have to stay away from our kind?” I ask changing the topic from my reaction.

         “Because you are scary,” she said, her voice child-like.

         “How?”

         “I can create illusions with eye contact, that’s power. Humans are manipulators and always hungry for power. I would rather stay away than be a puppet in their hands” she answered without any hesitation. Her voice holds the weight of the experience deep that might have left a scar on her heart and dreadful memories.

         “Why tell me all these?”

         “Because you won’t remember any of it later”

         “So, you are going to kill me?” I asked scared.

         “Nope, I am not a human, I mean no harm but my safety.”

         “So, what do you plan to do with me?”

         “Erase it.”

         “All of it,” I ask doubtfully.

         “All of this” she confirms.

         “Can you reconsider…, maybe having a friend who can identify you with your true identity might make life a little better?” I suggest.

         “Might equally get worst,” un-hesitantly she replies.

         “Wow, you are quick with words,” I said in awe.

         “And you are bad at convincing,” she completed.

         “Harsh too,” I thought, but she heard.

         Just before she raises her hand to my head and I still see her as a child, I asked her one last question “So, am I not special?”

         She un-hesitantly says “nope, just a glitch, because of cold” and with those words, I fall asleep.

         I woke up in my bed, with a headache and a coffee on my bedside table, with a note in the coffee, “might as well consider your offer, but it’s just a truce dominated by me.”

         I smile at it as the words disappear once I complete reading. I drink the coffee and get ready for the next day. Ready to visit a magical little girl, hiding from humans for her safety, trying out a new truce with a human teenage boy.