OBSOLETE CONFESSION

A crisp sound coming from the pages as I flipped back and forth the pages of the book, I loaned weeks ago. It was the end of the semester and all the books must be returned. Looking around after getting my card, silence is deafening to the core and only sound from the aircon can be heard. No audible whispers heard that was once the liven the library. Even the librarian and staff were too silent as they organized the catalogue and doing inventory.

I motion towards the shelves of different section. Thinking of those books piled neatly, I scanned them idly and a group of discarded books caught my attention. I drew closer and I signaled the staff if I could read them; they allowed it and I proceed to my agenda. I dust off those torn and worn-out covers of some books which are exceeded its shelf life. The pages were too delicate to flip until the last book pique my interest. It was the most tattered among the pile but captivated me with its nylon stiches that trying to keep them into place. It was a thick leather-bound entitled The History of Mathematics. As I skimmed the succeeding pages, there are some writings on the first page that surprised me. It was written in lead pencil and it was minuscule which began to fade.

“Dearest student librarian, flip to page 12” It was written below the page number. Without closer look, you can think it was just part of the sentences.

Intrigued, I browsed page 12 and looked for the next written conversations This time it is inside the box of illustrations.

“You were this petite yet radiant girl who issued my library card. It was your expressive and sparkling eyes pique my interest today. Looking at you refreshes my day, and I would like to know you more. - 1.3 Number of Recording of the Babylonians under Babylonian Cuneiform Script.

I, an outsider prying like a gossiper and want to know more. I scanned the succeeding pages hoping for other notes yet there were no notes written. It somewhat mentioned Babylon things. It was cliffhanger and challenge me to scan the whole book. I was lost in the labyrinth of confusion, yet I am determined. I scrutinized the topic all about Babylon while being gentle with the torn pages. Could it be that the pages devoured by the bookworms? I was so anxious that I even read about Babylon and their cuneiform script. I relieved to discover the next notes.

“I am eager to simply looked at you every day. I filled myself with excuses and even borrow books that are not references. My heart throbs so fast when you delicately write my name in the logbook. Your colleagues called you Shirley. My name is Robert. How about I will introduce myself next time?” My tongue tied and inaudible sounds were heard from me if I attempt to strike a conversation. It was a cowardly thank you note I give to you today. I wonder if you read my note.”-Herman Hankel. pp. 33

Can’t he just simply say thank you? I wondered; well old-fashioned people were too timid to confess. Can’t he man up for real? I inwardly cried after discovering that didn’t have proper conversation with the one, he fancied. “It was too timid of you Robert!” I blurt out openly and it was too late for me to cover my mouth. I looked at the library staff and they too put to halt with my amplified thoughts.

“Sorry.” I whispered at them and they continue their tasks as if nothing happened. I just buried my head in embarrassment and continue to unlock this drama. I quickly found the next notes as I browsed the following pages.

“It seems you were a good student as I heard circulating in the campus. You are intelligent and dedicate your time in your studies. I heard you wanted to become a librarian. That suit you well.  As I write these, I saw you open the window and the ray of sunlight from the sunset passed through. I saw you trying to catch them, and you smiled. I smiled too. I looked like a fool when our eyes met. You quickly lower your gaze and you returned to your table. I looked away quickly and afraid that you would be uncomfortable. It was preposterous that I needed to feign to be entertained with what I read in times that you caught me staring. Cowardice may engulf me when I had my encounters with you, but I truly liked you. Only this book knows what you are to me.” -The Geometrical Discoveries of Thales pp. 83.

Is there a hindrance? Is he too entangled with another person? Is love so strict and uptight? These series of thoughts flood in my mind after reading the 4^th note. I felt bad upon reading how suffocating would it be to confess someone. Now a days these feelings often conveyed insincerely just like how my classmates often aired about their lovers and fling.

I read the fifth note. It was written under the quote of Plato. I silently prayed for development. Come on Robert! Be of courage. Strange that an Acacia leaf was bookmarked on that page too written with that student librarian named ‘Shirley’.

“I braced myself and gather courage to tell you how I feel. Rejected or not, I am determined to tell you so. It took me months just to write this confession. I grabbed my sister’s stationary and wrote all the things I like about you. I plot to accidentally bumped into you under the Acacia trees adjacent to the library you always passed by. I am prepared today. I counted my steps as you stood there as you used to, I estimated it will be 200 long strides to bumped into you. I paced 100 steps and paused. 20 more steps and pause. I froze there and looked up as the winds brush off the Acacia leaves and fall them like gentle rain on the ground. It was the perfect view with you, and you brush off some leaves in your hair. I paced other steps unknowingly and it was 20 more steps to stood in front of you yet.” The Alexandrian School: Euclid pp. 141

“Yet what!” I screamed inwardly. This time a loud thud disrupts the silence. Feign not to notice, I sit properly as if I was fine. I was too agitated with this cringed cliffhanging notes. I glanced at the clock and it was already 1:00 pm yet surprisingly the library was vacant. No students except me that day went in. I somehow felt relieved, that no one would put me into spotlight for the strange noises I made.

“That day, I was heartbroken. My heart sank when I looked at you. It was only 20 steps closer to you when my professor called me. He said it was urgent. It seems that I was choosing two important decision in my life that day whether to confess now or later? I choose the latter and responded to my professor. My professor discussed something important that I could not refuse. After hearing the news, I visited the library with the hope that I could run into you. But I was out of luck. I was never lucky since that day. I no longer had encounter with you. So, I write this to put ease in my heart. Perhaps I could see you tomorrow or the other.” Construction of the Regular Pentagon pp. 165.

“It is the last semester this year, and I am afraid that it could be the last year I could see you around. I could not see you last year. I was preparing for the military examination I applied long time ago. The last time I was about to confess you; my professor got the mail. He discussed it with me if I could continue in the university or join the army. I was hesitant with my dreams finally fulfilled. I am afraid I could not get in touch with you. I never even spoke a word with you. My heart is in trouble. I wonder if I could give up army and stay in the university perhaps will I had the chance to have a conversation with you? What should I do?” The First Awakening: Fibonacci pp. 269.

“I wanted to see you one last time. I always visit the library even on summer so that I could talk to you in person. It seems I missed my chance. I even inquire your colleagues I could find you, but they know nothing about you. Your write nothing about your home address. It seems that we are not even fated to be acquainted in this life. I visit the library this time to properly confess. If I could go back time, I will properly tell you. It sucks to confess on a book. It sucks to pour out everything on the book. What sucks more is to write all my sentiments to a tattered and worn-out book. I wonder when will this book disposed soon. If it happens to land to you, I truly wanted to say what I would truly feel. I love you. I do not know when, where and how but I loved you. Perhaps this is just on my part, but I truly loved you.” Maclaurin’s Treatise on Fluxions pp. 524.

“This will be the last time I could perhaps write this confession; I came today to get my things and bade goodbye to my professors and friends. I enlist myself with military. The reality of serving the people hits me and if I am lucky and could come alive, I promise to reach out to you soon and I hope I could see you in the university around. I also hope that when I come back, you were not still married so that I could still had a chance. Perhaps this is my last chance to confess and be rejected if unlucky. Thank you for being my sunshine in my university years. I yearn for you and love you. To my dearest librarian Shirley from Robert.” Boole’s Algebra of Logic pp. 646

Silence echoes in my heart aches with what I read. My mind was flood with questions about Robert, what happened and such. Knowing this book will be discarded, his feelings will be thrown too. I wonder if the librarian he fancied knows what he endured in silence. His confessions put me in extreme melancholy that I wondered if Shirley knows. Only these four corners validate his feelings, and this book was the remnant of his coward confession which was obsolete and soon to be forgotten. It took me hours to contemplate what happened next that I haven’t notice that it was already 5’o clock in the afternoon. The library opens until six and it was time for me to leave. I clasp with me the book towards the library staff. I am determined to keep this book for Robert’s sake or whoever he is.

“Will it be possible for me to keep this book in my possession since will be weeded soon?” I ask with shaky voice as if the whole written confession really affected me.

The middle-age librarian looked at me with quizzical look. It came to me suddenly if that librarian Robert feel in love with would be the same age as the librarian I am currently had business with. She looked at the torn book that I embraced and looked for some information in her screen. I was antsy with what would be her decision about it. While waiting for her approval, my attention drawn to the sound from the opened door and the chimes in the door post. It was the Ms. Arancon, the spinster professor in Mathematics. She too had business with the library as she returned the books that she borrowed in the library.

I greeted at her politely and make way for her to transact with the librarian first.

“I see, you were weeding the old and torn books Janet.” As she wrote the card and handed the books to the librarian.

“Ah yes, the are about to be sent to the collectors.”

“Oh, you were from the Mathematics Department perhaps?” she turned at me while looking at the book in my hands.

“No ma’am. I am from Literature Department.” I responded.

“You will undergo advance self-study perhaps. It will be one of the course program next semester.” she smiled and pat my shoulders.

“That book is one of the discarded books in the pile. She was asking earlier if she could keep it.” It was the librarian’s turn to tell Ms, Arancon.

“Oh, the history one?” she once glanced the book I held dearly. It was the time that I remember her name.

“Yes, Ma’am Shirley.” the librarian answered.

She motioned towards me and placed her hands to the book. It must be her. She must be that Shirley whom Robert loved.

“You must be interested in the foundation of mathematics. It is a great reference.”

I wonder if she already knew. I wonder if she already read Robert’s confession.

She smiled at me once more and then walked out in the library. I was left dumbfounded with the theory I had in mind or maybe I was too immersed with every middle-age woman name Shirley.

“Ms. Shirley is still the best, still the kind professor I’ve ever met.” Exclaimed by one of the library staff as she paused her inventory.

“It was just sad that she didn’t get married. My colleagues used to tell me that she was the muse in the library when she was once a library assistance.”

It was the time I ran after Ms. Arancon while bringing with me the book. She must know. I run fast as I could, and I was able to catch up with her. I was able to pat her lightly on her shoulders. I breath heavily before I speak.

“Yes?”

“I… I think you need to know this. It …it,” I breath heavily. I was too nervous to talk that I stutter but I must do this. For Robert’s sake.

“Umm, I think you need to read this book. There was something about you Ma’am.”

She looked at me with serenity and she beamed when I handed her the book.

“Banach and Normed Linear Spaces. I think I wrote something there” Then she turned around and left.

I was too stupefied with the situation and I unconsciously flipped the pages of the topic she was saying, and my eyes widened with what I saw. It was another note but different handwriting.

“Study this part and you will understand these equations. Ms. Shirley Arancon.”

Disappointment envelops around me. She never read a single confession in this book. My heart is heavy as I looked at her figure vanished out of my sight. My mind wandered that I just rely on my feet wherever it takes me.

It was uncommon quiet day. The sun began to set as orange hues filled the sky. The university hymn plays around the tranquil campus. I stood there as I flipped the last pages. Scent of acacia trees dispel around me as I stood the road where acacia trees were there. I tightly clasp in my hand the book that breaks my heart. I counted 200 steps and closed my eyes as I recalled done and look backwards. I look behind me and somehow an illusion of a man with gentle smile stood before me. I smiled back while hot tears rolled in my cheeks. I looked in his eyes as if he were trying to tell me something that he could not express. The wind gently blows, and acacia leaves descend slowly.

“I like you too.” I cried quietly that only the wind could hear it. Since it was an obsolete confession, perhaps I should reply in Ms. Shirley’s stead. I poured out my sympathy to that love that was never replied. Robert smiled in my imagery. The four-word reply dissolves his image before me as the wind blows.