I CAN SEE YOU

There was a commotion.

The librarian, a little too known in this institution, was at it again. Though this time, nobody would deny her of doing her job. With her general plumpness, and giant-like height, she towered over the suspects, bellowing in her loud high-pitched voice, waving her hands in animated gestures like she was conducting an orchestra. I couldn't hear her clearly now, but I remember, though I want to erase it from my memory, I remember what that eardrum piercing voice is like.

A high school couple was having a heated argument in one of the center tables, where everyone has access to their scene. People's head raise from their open books, from their pens and papers, and from their laptops, to see what was happening. Mouths fell open, eyes widened, some had furrowed brows while some had them raised, and some couldn't hide their amusement.

This was the same couple who was lovey-dovey just five minutes ago. Whatever brought about this problem between the two seemed serious. The lady was fuming with tears running on her cheeks, and the guy had his fist clenched so tight his knuckles were white. From out of nowhere, they were shouting at each other until the librarian came at them in an onslaught. The three were talking in chorus at the beginning but Mrs. Blossom overpowered the two in just five seconds. Words were thrown but my headphones drowned it all. All I heard were a barrage of muffled incomprehensible sounds.

I gave in to the urge of taking the headphones off, and it was something I regretted immediately.

The lady was mumbling under her breath, in between her sobs.

"Enough!" The guy couldn't hold it despite the dangerous eyes of the employee. "This is ridiculous."

"This is not a shoot of your melodrama! Get out!" The librarian's hand slashed through air threateningly and pointed towards the exit.

"We're done!" The guy stomped outside and left the lady in their table, still cussing, without looking back.

"Josh..." She trailed out.

I snapped my headphones back, and hit the volume so loud that everything else was muted. I couldn't take my eyes off her though.

She couldn't raise her head, her eyes stuck to the table. Tears no longer fell off her eyes but every now and then she still had the convulsive gasps. She shoved her things carelessly into her bag with slow-moving hands and left, bowing apologetically as she went.

Wiping the tear that escaped my eyes, I stared hard on bookshelf #6 to stop myself from crying. Reading the number and section title repeatedly didn't help. The words echoed in my ears, in my head, over and over again, but they were not the voice of Josh, they were his.

People went on with their businesses. Noses glued on books. Pens sliding on papers. Glaring light from laptops reflected on eyeglasses. Magazines and newspapers piled on tables. Mrs. Blossom back on her pedestal.

In my desperate attempt to cheer up, I played La Campanella and continued where I left off in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. I pretended to read, though the letters danced in front of me. My eyes stung as the saltwater pooled on them. My chest was heavy and my breathing was getting out of control. Not wanting to have the same attention as the people earlier, I placed my things in my bag, dropped the book in the return cart, and went for the door.

I found myself in the ladies’ restroom. In the mirror, stared a teary-eyed girl with black-rimmed glasses, wearing her favorite maroon hoodie, with a massive maroon headphone still playing on her head.

The doors opened, and in came two women in business attires.

The water rushed from the faucet to my hands. Its icy cool fluid tingling my fingertips. Its continuous flow soothing. Its energy going up to my spine and cleared my head. "Aaaaah..." Relief.   

The sun hit me hard. It hurt my eyes, and my skin. The sky was quite a view. Blotches of shining feathery clouds floated in thousand hues of blue. The tree tops glowed the palest of green, and beyond that, the buildings stood tall, proud, and illustrious of their uniqueness. The weather, as beautiful and favorable as it is, did its effort to lift my mood up. I went down the old building steps with a thud at every level.

Then, someone came running out the library and grabbed my shoulder. Pulling my headphones down, I realized this guy from the far-right table reading Harry Potter. A black backpack slung recklessly over his shoulder. A large sketchpad threatening to leap out of it. It looked like he would collapse from exhaustion.

"Hey." He panted, though the distance he ran was probably not something to get him out of breath, well, considering if he came from where he used to read. "You dropped this." He handed me a three-fold dog-eared letter. I wished he didn't.

"How..." How did you? Where did I? It's supposed to be...

I threw the letter in the open bin just a few steps to our right, and there, the old piece of paper floated in slow motion and opened as it touched the bottom. There, at the top of those garbage, lay his last words for me. Words in his calligraphic hand writing. Words, he didn't have the courage to say in person. Words, that stupid spineless jerk couldn't bear say to me face to face.

"I'm in love with someone else. We're done."

It happened months ago but I still... I gripped the strap of my sling bag and unconsciously bit my lips from wanting to scoop back the letter. Turning away from the bin with effort, I came across the curious eyes of the guy, who returned the letter, fixing the sketchpad in his backpack along the way. I wondered if he read it before giving it back to me, but by now, with a single glimpse at that open bin, he must have.

Those brown gentle eyes... Curious... Kind... Understanding...

What he muttered next came out of nowhere but gave me a ray of hope, an excitement. "I don't think you've had lunch yet. I know a great place, it's not too far. Long-time no see by the way." He said it in a nervous stuttering wreck but it was melodic to my ears. Who he is, I still can't remember, but nevertheless, what the hell...

"Sure." I shrugged.