Dropouts of Mr. Lakeland’s Class

“Shhhhhhh.” The librarian whispers loudly, bringing her crooked finger up to her mouth, as she passes our table in long uneven strides. Her black robe is draped too far over her head making her look like a lost ghost. Kaylin giggles silently as I gag, wiping away the spit droplets that now lay on my stack of papers. 

It’s disgusting, I mouth with a smile slipping through my lips. Kaylin and I had spent the past four hours in old rustic wooden chairs that were in desperate need of some cushions. We both have three finals this week followed by two research papers. The dim lighting and the nagging librarians shushing us to be quiet every ten seconds was not helping my concentration. 

I give up studying for my mathematics exam and plop my head down against my textbook. After a much needed two minute nap, I rub my eyes before I stack the four books already scattered across the desk into a neat pile. I use my pencil to tap Kaylin’s shoulder and say, “I need to find a book for Mr. Lakeland’s class. I have a stupid paper due next week. Did you take his class yet?” 

“Not yet. I will probably take him next semester,” She shrugs. 

 “Honestly, I have no idea why so many people dropped out of his class. Yeah, it’s difficult but not enough to stop showing up completely,” I whisper under my breath. I push back my chair: my nose scrunches, and I press my lips together with fear as it creates a loud creaking noise. Thankfully no librarian was near, one more warning and I would have been kicked out.

I make my way through the long hallway with hundreds of shelves on either side. Though I could live without the constant uptight rules we have to follow, I truly love the library. Its ancient architecture must date back centuries, and the hundreds of untold stories that line the shelves is the reason I am pursuing a degree in literature. 

I find the historical non-fiction section and spend hours on my hands and knees filing through the bottom shelves; I even have to grab the rolling ladder to reach the few top shelves that have to be over seven feet tall. By the time the dinner bell rings, I am covered in a thick layer of dust–much of which is now in my lungs–my hands are scabbed, and my muscles are sore to the touch. Where the hell is this damn book? 

The amount of dust swallowed makes me nauseous, so I decide to skip dinner and continue to look for the book. Finally I give up and muster up the courage to ask a librarian. I tap the velvet looking robe on her shoulder and the old lady turns around too quickly for her rip age. “Yes dear?” Her voice raspy and dry.

“Hello. I am sorry to bother you, but do you know where the book World of Knowledge may be? I have been searching for hours.”

Her eyes seem to light up at my question, which unsettles me. “Ah yes.” She croaks. “That book is down in section 759, row three, book five.” She says pointing down the long hallway. 

“Thank you.” I say slowly. Unsure to how she was able to retain where the book lays so quickly makes the pit in my stomach uneasy. But I am sure others in my class have previously asked, so it should not have surprised me that she knows the location of the book. 

After five minutes of walking, I find myself standing in front of a stone wall. Had I reached the very end of the library? I turn to my right to see the side of the shelf labeled Section 759, Fantasy. Fantasy? His class is historically non-fiction based. Why would the librarian direct me here? I have searched too long for this book to not check, so I begin my walk down the narrow pathway. The air seems to have been coated in dust, I bring my sweater over my mouth trying to conceal my cough. 

I make my way to row three, dragging my finger along the books, leaving a fresh trail through the dust. The lighting is horrendous in the depth of the library, I have to squint at every tag until I find row three, book five. There, the World of Knowledge sits perfectly on the shelf. My head tilts slightly to the right. Odd? All these books must have a blanket of dust covering them, but this book looks brand new. I reach my hand out, grabbing the tip of the spine. It tilts halfway outwards before stopping. My eyes widen as a loud creak echoes through the narrow shelf. “Shhhhh.” I spit out. I try to pull the book further, but it does not budge, not even the slightest. My body tenses as I feel the weight shift in my hand. The book was moving forward. No! Part of the shelf was moving forward. 

A beam of light pierces through the creases of the wood. My breath does not return until the door is fully open, and I am left standing in awe. Luscious fields of green meadows spread miles in every direction. The sky is a swirl of bright orange and a deep purple, where the sun sets in the distance creating honey-like beams of light that seem to stretch for miles on end. I step into the unknown world, stretching my arm out letting the light hit the palm of my hand. A warm sensation fills my cold body, like being wrapped in a blanket in the heart of winter. 

A breeze pulls me further in, my thoughts taken away not noticing as the door closes softly behind me. I drop my arms down letting my hands brush against the soft beads of grass. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, embracing the warm fuzzy feeling that is radiating through my bones. My body sways with the wind like a tree dancing to the summer song, how I never wanted this feeling to end. 

I stare as the sun now hides behind the meadow hills until it says goodbye with a hush of darkness. The orange sky dissipates to purple and deep blue shadows, as the clouds roll in. 

When a forceful gust of wind pushes me back, a pit in my gut brings me out of the trance. My own thoughts have to pry through the layers of fog that holds back reality.

Where was I? How long have I been here? An hour? A day? I run through the field of flowers pumping my arms with every push of my heavy legs. Though the door seems only a short distance away, I feel as if my strides are cut short. After too long I finally reach the door, and I am left bent over, my hands placed on my knees, panting heavy breathes.

Once my vision refocuses, I grab the handle which is frozen to the touch, but I twist the knob and pull as hard as I can. The door will not open. It does not budge. I try again and again. Nothing. I take my fists and pound against the wooden frame, yelling at the top of my lungs, hoping, praying for anyone to hear me. Tears begin to well up in my eyes, and I press my head against the door in defeat. Not too long later, my heart jumps with surprise as I hear soft footsteps echoing through the door. 

I begin pounding once again. My voice cracks as I yell, “Help! I am here!” 

The footsteps stop and so does my heart as the familiar raspy voice whispers, “Shhhhhhh.”