Story of My Life

Hope Summers opened the heavy door and shivered at the blast of cool air in sharp contrast to the muggy heat from outside. She inhaled deeply and the smell of old books filled her nose. No matter how rocky life got the library was always a good place to find a distraction or escape. The possibilities here were endless. She looked around at the neatly organized shelves deciding which genre she was in the mood for this today. Horror and thrillers were usually her go-to. Her favorite, of course, being anything written by King. Today, however, her eyes wandered to the romance section. Since romance, or the lack thereof, seemed to be the cause of her problems, perhaps diving into a novel dedicated to it would give her some ideas about how to fix things. 

She picked up the book closest to her and read the blurb on the back cover. It gave the whole ‘will they overcome the odds and end up together’ spiel but, of course, they would. Don’t they always? If they didn’t, it wouldn’t be a romance novel, would it?

If only life were like a novel. Knowing how your story would end based on which genre you were written into. It might make it easier to know what to do when things get a little sticky. Or at least make it easier to accept when the plot took a few unexpected turns.  

Real life is not like that at all though. Real life is messy and all we can do is guess and hope we’ve made the right choice. Hope sighed and put the book back on the shelf with the rest of the happy endings and looked around again to see if anything else caught her eye.

What she found was a petite old woman standing quite close to her. Hope jumped “Oh! Excuse me, I didn’t see you there. I must have been lost in thought” 

“No worries at all dear,” she gave a kind smile, “Can I help you find anything.?”

Hope realized that this woman must be one of the librarians “Oh Umm... maybe. I’m not really sure what I am looking for, though, if I’m being honest. Do you have any recommendations?”

The woman stared at her for a moment, her bright eyes searching Hope’s. “I think I might have something for you,” she finally said. “Here, come with me. I’ll show you.” She gestured for Hope to follow as she headed toward the back of the library.

When they got to the back wall, between two bookshelves was a door that Hope hadn’t recalled ever seeing before. She supposed she had just always been focused on the books and never noticed it there. The librarian inserted a key and opened the door to reveal a staircase spiraling down into a vast room filled with what seemed like endless rows of shelves, all lined with books. 

“After you,” the old woman ushered Hope through the door. 

Hope stepped inside, her mouth gaping in awe of the sight before her, “I had no idea all of this was down here. How come it is locked and not accessible to the public?” 

The librarian gave a sly grin, “Not everyone can handle the thing you find in this room.” She stepped back over the threshold and called, “When you find what it is you need to see, the way forward will become clear.” She closed the door and the staircase disappeared and it faded away into just a plain, solid wall.

“Wait, what!?” Hope screamed as she pressed and smacked her hands against the suddenly present wall. This could not be happening. It was an illusion, or maybe she was dreaming. Yeah, that would make more sense than a door and staircase magically disappearing.

She turned her back to the wall and took a deep breath, looking around to gain her bearings. No. This was happening. This was real. She was stuck down here with no idea where or what ‘here’ was or how to get out. 

She looked at the books. There were names on the spines, but no titles. She noticed that they were organized alphabetically and on a hunch she searched for the ‘s’ section. She ran her fingers along the spines until she found what she was looking for. “No way,” she muttered in disbelief as she pulled off a book labeled Summers, Hope. 

She carried the book bearing her name back to the wall that shouldn’t be there, sat down against it, and cracked open the cover. 

She skimmed over the first few chapters. They covered the first moments of her life. The first time she heard her parents’ voices, her first steps, discovering she hated broccoli for the first time. She skipped forward a few chapters and recognized a memory of her playing in the snow with her brother when they were children.

She had an idea. Maybe if she read through the good times of her relationship she could find the excitement again. She flipped through the pages to find where her relationship with her husband had first begun. She read the chapter on their first date. Grinning and giggling along with her book self as if she was living it all over again. This must be what the librarian was talking about. If I relive our love story I’ll know how to fix it and find my way out. So, she continued. The first ‘I love you, the first time they made love, the proposal, the wedding, the honeymoon. Happily, ever after. She stopped there, not wanting to continue to the part where routine replaced romance, and quiet resentment seemed to hang between them.

She turned around, believing that she had solved the riddle, she found her love story and reignited the flame. She expected to see the way out reappear, but the wall just remained, solid and unwavering.

She banged her head on it in frustration. “I read the story. I saw what I needed to see, what else am I supposed to do!” she shouted at nobody.

With a groan, she returned to the book. What else was there to do anyway? She picked up where she left off, after the happily ever after. As she did, she noticed something. As the story progressed, the dialogue got shorter and shorter. The internal monologue increased with all the things left unsaid to each other. Slowly, they stopped saying anything that really mattered at all. Mostly just discussing money or coordinating work schedules. They stopped doing the little things for each other to make sure they felt loved. 

Seeing her marriage slowly fall apart on the pages in front of her brought a tear to her eye. She knew what she needed to do. Pretending that everything was okay would not bridge the rift that had grown between them through the years. As the tear rolled down her cheek, the staircase reappeared behind her. She put the book back on the shelf and wiped the tear away. She ascended the stairs and went through the doorway back into the library.

She headed back toward the front entrance, passing by the check-out counter as she did. 

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” The librarian asked, giving Hope a knowing smile.

“I did actually, and I wanted to thank you.”

The old woman chuckled “Thank me for what dear? All I did was unlock the door; the rest was up to you.” 

Hope smiled at her and left the library. She drove home to talk to her husband, to tell him everything she had been holding inside hoping it would be enough to bring them back to each other.