A Rainy Return

It was a gray and dreary Saturday. Rain had been thundering down for hours, most gardens would certainly be ruined. It was the kind of day where even the thought of going outside made a person shiver. 

Casey was, as always, tucked away in a chair that completely swallowed her, reading her way through a stack of books that teetered precariously, seeming as if at any moment it would topple over. A steaming mug of tea sat precariously on the shelf above her, almost spilling every time she reached for it. She paid no mind, lost completely in her book. Sighing, she closed her book and reached for the next one on the stack. It was a picture of relaxation. And then she saw the title. The Goldfinch.

Shit, Casey thought, jolting up in her seat. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d checked it out. A month maybe? No, a month ago she had checked out The Picture of Dorian Gray. 

Stumbling through her reading room, she frantically searched for her receipt, finally spilling her tea in the process. Soaked in the warm liquid, Casey paid no mind, digging through books, binders, and bags. Her elbow hit a lamp as she brought her arm up, victorious. 

The crumpled receipt in her hand was torn and faded. She peered through the dimmed light. Four months ago.

Shit, she thought again. Casey was never one to have overdue library books, always punctually returning her latest read. Of course, she was a favorite among her local librarians. She must have stacked the book up and forgotten about it. 

She squinted, looking out the fogged window, speckled with drops of water. She allowed herself to entertain the idea of waiting until the weather was better to return the book. Casey knew that would not happen. She had a reputation to uphold. 

Scrambling for a pen and a scrap of paper, Casey scribbled out a short note, apologizing for how late the book was. Of course, she would have to pay a fine, but she felt a note made her apology more personal, more sincere. 

Once her note was complete, she placed it inside the cover of the book. Panting, she brushed a strand of curly brown hair behind her ear. Jogging out of her reading room, she made her way to the front of her house. Simultaneously pulling on shoes and a raincoat, she grabbed her backpack, to keep the book safe. Just as a precaution, she backtracked and placed the book in a plastic bag. Once she knew it was protected from water, she zipped it safely into her backpack.

With her backpack on her back, rain boots on her feet and a determined look on her face, Casey threw open her front door. 

Which immediately slammed shut again with a frigid gust of wind. 

Shivering, Casey prepared to open the door a second time, this time making sure she could hold it open. Bracing herself against the wind, she made her way to the front porch. Standing for a moment, she surveyed her front porch and the street in front of her.

Wind was whipping through her hair, dragging poor little flowers back down to the earth, shaking trees so violently she became more worried. No, she thought. She had a mission. Pulling her hood up, she quickly exited the porch, rounding the side of the house where she kept her bike and helmet in a small shed. 

In the safety of her shed, she took a deep breath, placing the helmet on her head and buckling the strap. Slowly, she pushed off and pedaled out in front of her house.

Immediately, her bike was forced to the far end of the sidewalk by the strong wind. Pedaling hard, she set off down the street. 

Glancing down, Casey noticed the small river of water running down the street. As she veered right to avoid it, the strap to her backpack broke, sending it flying straight into the river of water. 

Casey dropped her bike in the middle of the street, attempting to catch her bag, but it was already moving down the street, being carried by the water. Forgetting her bike, Casey sprinted down the side of the street, nearly toppling over as her foot slipped in the rushing water. Reaching her hands out as far as she could, she grasped her backpack just before it was sucked down into the sewers. 

Now completely soaked, as her hood had flown back through her efforts, Casey clutched the bag tightly to her chest, taking a deep breath. She peered through the heavy rain towards her bike, discarded in the middle of the street. As soon as she started to approach it, she heard the screeching sound of wet tires on a wet road. Jumping out of the way, Casey was nearly hit by the car speeding down the street. Luckily, it had just missed her bike. When she walked towards it, on closer inspection she noticed the tire must have popped off when she dropped it. 

Dragging her bike to the side of the road, she began to trudge down the street on foot, determined to bring the book back. Rain had now soaked her shoes, making them squeak with each step she took. She could feel her socks growing soggy and her hair beginning to frizz up. 

Squinting ahead through the rain, she could see the library. She anticipated its warmth, entertaining the ideas of sweet librarians and new books. She did not anticipate the muddy ditch in front of her.

Arms and legs flailing, Casey fell into the muddy swamp of a ditch, flat on her back. Scrambling around in the mud, she slipped and slid, trying to find her footing. After about five minutes of attempting to stand up, she was finally back on her feet. 

Surveying the bottom of the ditch, which was not too deep, she realized that if she stood on a rock, she could easily climb out. Hands grasping at the sidewalk above her, she slowly but surely eased her way out of the mud filled hole. With her whole torso on the sidewalk, she swung one leg onto the pavement, then the other.

Laying face down, covered in mud on the pavement, Casey sighed and took a moment to rethink all of her decisions that day. She was so close. With a groan, she stood up, adjusted her now one strapped backpack, and marched towards the automatic library door.

With a warm gust of air, she was inside. Breathing in that clean library smell, Casey could see that it was almost completely empty. Her favorite librarian, Ms. Reyes sat quietly at her desk, scanning books.

Ms. Reyes, a small old lady looked up when she felt the gust of wind from the opening doors. “Casey! What happened to you?” she exclaimed. 

“Forgot… book...had to return…” Casey panted, out of breath. “Oh, my dear, you could have waited a day! You poor thing, come with me” Ms. Reyes responded.

The tiny librarian took Casey back into the offices behind the library, not after Casey insisted the book be returned to circulation and she paid her fine. In the staff kitchen, Ms. Reyes sat Casey down on the ratty old couch, handing her a hot chocolate. 

“There you go, love. Try to warm up,” she said, “I’ve got just the read for you, I’ll be right back” Casey smiled and quietly thanked the sweet old lady. Sipping her hot chocolate, still drenched and covered in mud, she felt content knowing she had such a strong connection to the library. Oh, and of course content that she had returned her book.