Steps

I ran in and closed the door behind me. Thankfully, the kick didn’t rip it off the hinges, but I knew that the lock would be broken by now so I could only hold the door by pressing my back against it. I squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation of a powerful force to push from the other side. But nothing happened. I held my breath to better hear if more heavy footsteps were approaching. Nothing. The library was silent again. And once again the silence did not make me feel better. I was certain that all those, who were rushing to get me earlier, were now standing outside the door waiting for me to open it. The breath I was holding came out unconsciously and weakly, leaving heaviness in my chest. “Until I can hear them leave,” I thought, “I will stay here in this room.”

I don’t know for how long I was standing like this. Eventually my tensed-up muscles got tired, and I slid down to the floor letting my head lean back. When my eyes got used to the darkness I could see where I was. Apart from some scrap wood, pieces of Styrofoam and an old mop with a bucket, there was nothing, but layers of dust in this little abandoned utility room. Just like I imagined it. But I couldn’t laugh. I promised to laugh at myself in this case, but I couldn’t. The humor that was obvious to me earlier wasn’t registering now. I was rejecting it. I was sitting on the floor rejecting a lot of things that I thought, and I did earlier that day.

It began late afternoon in this library. I was returning a book that I borrowed sometime near the end of my finals. The book was enjoyable enough not to feel like another textbook and not as unserious to take me out end-of-the-year study rhythm. The last push. My mind like many others in their final academic year was in a state of hurry to finish the university and give, what could be the last farewell, to lectures, exams and reading of textbooks. At the same time some of our minds were beginning to feel a fear of upcoming loss of purpose. This fear was growing. For me the exams finished already, and the fear was gone. It was replaced with its source, the emptiness, the realization that the solid ground is no longer beneath me. I was beginning to float in a soup called “career life” that was full of predictable ingredients: mindless car traffic to work; jazzy music in cafes for check-ins and catch ups; busy airport for an annual vacation trip; sterility and omnipresent glass glare of a modern one-bedroom rental... I started to float, and I didn’t feel in control. I was feeling led by a gentle, but confident grip.

I returned the book and looked at the reading area filled with students. I envied their struggle. They were fighting with their tired brains to memorize, to understand. On the outside, looking in, if one could squint and let imagination go, it would look as if these young people were not there just to pass a course, but on their way to become game changers. They were learning about the world to change it for the better. Rulebreakers, pioneers of innovative ideas. Although it was an illusion, I missed being part of it. That is why I got that book. To extend the feeling. I couldn’t let go, didn’t want to step into the soup… But I had to. Otherwise, if I were to borrow another book, I would no longer be just some graduate who got lost on his happy way out of the university. I would become something worse. A pathetic, ghostly presence stalking other people’s pursuit of meaningful life. An academia fetishist.

When I was walking towards downstairs, I stopped by the door that I walked by so many times before. Doors like this one were always fully painted with the same color as the walls they were built in. A doorknob was painted too if it wasn’t broken off. Even the cracks in the old wood were filled with the same dull tone of pink or yellow or baby blue. No one ever bothered to try and open these doors, no one even gave these doors much thought. And if anyone did, they knew that behind these doors used to be a little storage or a utility room that people forgot the key to and eventually gave up on. A straightforward way to make it seem like the door never existed was to try and hide it, hoping that the paint camouflaged it so well that if a visitor noticed it, they would not bother to inquire about such a minor observation, because they would know the answer. The story was always the same. There used to be something beyond this door, it became useless, the key was lost and now it was just a door. A door that became a wall. So why ask? Why bother to even stop by it?

But being the way I was that day, I stopped and I looked at it. I thought, “Since I am leaving this university for good, I shouldn’t rush.” Yes, I was looking for an excuse to stay a little longer. I looked left and right along the narrow aisle where I stood between a bookshelf and the wall with that door mentioned earlier and an exit leading downstairs. I was by myself there and no one would notice this embarrassing thing I was about to do. I tried the doorknob and expectedly it did not move in any direction. I tried twisting it harder, but it’s if the doorknob was glued into its socket with superglue. There was no creak, there was no metal grinding sound. “I’m still by myself here,” I thought. “No one will know if I try this a little harder.” So, I pulled on the doorknob. First with one hand and then with both hands. Then I used my whole body as a counterweight, but the door remained unmoved and quiet. I, on the other hand, was becoming a warmer. I was not giving up though. But as I put a foot on the wall to give myself more leverage, I heard quick footsteps nearby. I was already by the exit door when I realized that still no one was coming my way.

However, I began to feel afraid that I was already becoming that pathetic ghostly stalker guy. “I need to leave this place, get some fresh air.” I thought. “But at the same time, this door deserves one last try for all the years it spent in oblivion. Also, if this is the last thing I do before I say goodbye to my `library creep` life, I will try it with my shoulder.

And so, I did, with all the strength a book nerd has. It happened quickly, but I remembered hearing a loud crack. It sounded like I broke it. Before I could hear any reaction from the folks on that floor I ran downstairs and out of building. I felt a rush. A pleasant feeling. I was sure that no one knew what I did. No one followed me…

The campus grounds felt empty except for a few students going to or from their end-of-year study sessions. The sun did not shine today as it did on the day when I finished my exams. That day it felt like nature was celebrating with me. It was signifying the end of one journey and the beginning of a new one. There was lightness in the air, a feeling of great accomplishment. The end of an epic saga.

But the feeling died sooner than one might expect. On the drive back home after a night of celebrating with my fellow new used-to-be-students I started to realize a page in my life turning. And I was afraid that it was turning not to a new chapter of say a story of my favorite character, but a character I didn’t wish to read about. And I was flipping through the next many pages of this book, and I couldn’t seem to find any mention of that character I liked.

Today’s weather with its chilly breeze and a seamless coat of grey clouds quickly cooled down my excitement about breaking a library door. I accepted my defeat. I was submitting to the autopilot. I suddenly felt an urge to blend in. Similarly to how I felt in the library, but this time I wanted to run to the grey crowd of my kind. I wanted the comfort of their busy work schedules, gym routines and get-togethers. I needed their buzzing to silence the revving up ringing in my mind, alarming me of incoming feeling of being lost. “Maybe I should create a bit of buzzing of my own,” I thought. “Make a family unit I can care for and hold dear, start working for company I can do the same for? Or maybe I will create a side hustle of my own? Or maybe I should make my fitness a priority? Hold on, maybe I can mix it all together! I am sure I can make it all happen!” All these “maybes” got me uplifted again. I have thought of all this before, but somehow at that moment it all sounded fresh and potent in my head.

And so being a little more cheerful I sped up my pace to the train station… I was on my way to see a friend whom I was texting as I walked. He was available to hang out and I could not wait to see him. I wanted us to talk in length about everything in the world like we always did. We would argue, we would laugh, we would make fun of each other, together we would be angry about one topic, and without realizing it, digress into another one. It would be great to also go out somewhere. Perhaps catch a movie. The sad truth was that I knew that the time together would run out too quickly. And I felt it already while standing on a train platform not having yet said “hi” to him. I felt the approaching departure already. So, I decided to suggest a trip together. “As soon as we both can.” I thought. This made me cheer up again. My friend texted me back saying that we can meet in half an hour after his work shift was over. I decided to wait for him by his condo.

…About an hour had passed when my phone died. Alone with my thoughts I waited another half an hour or so, watching the night street becoming increasingly lifeless. It brought back the thoughts of feeling lost and I noticed for the first time that my shoulder was aching me from the impact with the door. I suddenly felt connected to that narrow aisle and the door. I wanted to be in the library again. “Is the door barricaded with yellow tape on it?” I was wandering. “Did anyone even notice that it was broken? Or is it possible that the door didn’t even break and remained unchanged?” I was hoping that no one noticed it and I could be the first one to see what happened to it.

On the train ride back to the university it felt like I was returning to a scene of my crime. I approached the library with caution, walking slowly. However, I soon realized that to everyone else nothing major or unusual happened in that building. Life went on like nothing happened. But when I came to the door, I noticed something that no one else did. The door was slightly displaced inward. “Just one good kick and it will open,” I thought. And I was determined to do that kick, but I needed to wait until the library is empty and closed.

I hid away in a hidden dark corner of that floor and accidentally fell asleep. I missed when the librarian went around, reminding everyone that the library was closed, and when the last student and then the librarian left the building. I woke up some hours after that. My shoulder was aching me even more and my head felt light, probably because I haven’t eaten much all day. But I didn’t have an appetite. It was dark and quiet in the library, but compared to the outside I didn’t feel lost here. I had a job to finish here. The reasonable part of my brain that judged me for doing this sounded far away and I could barely hear it. I was letting the fantasy prevail, a role playing of some kind where I pretended to open up an old wound in the library organism and let the blood and the puss flow out destabilizing the flawed order of things. “And if inside ends up being some old mop and a bucket covered in decades of dust,” I thought, “and if all that comes out of that room is a smell of mold, so be it. I will laugh at it. I will laugh at myself.”

I made my way back to the door through the rows of desks and tall shelves of books. Streetlamps outside gave a little bit of light so I managed not to get lost. Everything looked different at night. Books, shelves, plant leaves and dead computer appeared to me as night guards of the library. During the day it seemed like they were distracted with other people. Now I was their focus. It’s as if everything here was watching my every move.

The door, my old acquaintance, looked even more invisible in twilight. I kicked it, but the damn door didn’t open. At the impact I felt it move forward a little and then it sprang back. But I knew that I broke the lock even more now. “Almost.” I thought. So, I kicked it again. I felt it move even more. But right before I could kick it again, I heard that horrible sound.

It was a loud voice yelling somewhere from the other end of the library. At first all I could hear is some kind of a growl. Like someone big, an old man from what it sounded like, was trying to push through something narrow to come out. And it seemed like he had to use all his strength to force himself out. I felt weak in my legs and suddenly wanted to throw up. The screaming and growling continued, but the horrific sound was becoming less muffled. It was now clearer and eventually the struggling stopped. For a minute I think there was no sound at all. But the silence bothered me even more then screaming as it gave no indication of where that terrible being was at the moment. Was it still on the other side or was it moving towards me? I hid behind a cart of books. The silence was broken again and it was again that old man’s voice coming from the same area, but this time with petrifying clarity.

“Yea, that’s him! It’s the bastard that broke the door! He came back, he’s here! Everyone to my location, surround him! No need to call the cops. We’ll deal with him here.” He yelled and I heard heavy boots stepping on floor with a sound that was increasing in volume.

Soon there were more heavy footsteps coming towards me from the opposite direction. They were indeed surrounding me. I quickly got up and ran to the exit door. With terror I realized that more of them were coming from downstairs. I felt cold sweat on my body and my vision became blurry. It seemed that my only chance of surviving this horror was to try breaking through the door again. The overwhelming fear gave me animalistic aggression and strength that I was ready to apply to every kick. The door didn’t have a chance. In just one try it swung open into the unknown darkness…