The Library After Hours

It’s such a cold night; the snowflakes are pretty though. How I love the different seasons. What am I thinking, in this moment, oh yes, how important it is to live life with all five senses. A slight smile tiptoes across my lips. Suddenly, my pocket vibrates, what I’m thinking now is how much I hate cellphones but it’s my sister from Tennessee. She can run hot and cold so it’s hard to ignore a call when I get the honor of receiving one. “Hello.” Her greeting never changes, “What are you doing?” I can be too honest sometimes, “I just left the library and I am enjoying my walk home.” Wait for it…”Oh my God, you are so weird, who goes to the library anymore?! You do know we are in the 21^st century.” I will not be defensive, “I do. You know it’s my happy place since we were kids.” I can just feel the virtual eye-roll across the miles, “Yeah, I remember.” “Hey Maggie, it’s snowing here and cold, OK to call you when I get home?” I’m kicking myself as I try not to slip along the slick pavement, why did I ask? Clearly we have a pattern that I secretly hope most sisters do. “So anyway…” and on she goes for five minutes until I insist I must call her back and promise I will. “Fine.” “Thanks, Maggie – talk soon.”

We are so different but our relationship is close and caring it just doesn’t come wrapped in a pretty package. We are interwoven, bound by a painful and dysfunctional childhood. The kind of childhood made for the big screen or at least a movie on the Lifetime channel. Our dialed-in, tightly woven intuition has been our shared life vest for more years than we care to confess. This has been a difficult year, a sad and heartbreaking sort of year. I left my marriage. The real one, not the one I created in my head; I left that one pretty much after the honeymoon. It took every ounce of whatever spirit I had left to trade in my wishbone for a backbone. I finally got to empty, yes, the very big E, the kind of E where you are running on fumes. The good news, I now get to fill my soul tank back up; I just love thinking about that. The library in the park is my favorite filling station these days. 

So many years spent in libraries. My safe haven since I started the first grade. The place that sheltered me in a beautiful kind of quiet that kept me cool in the summers and warm in the winters. As I grew up, every place we moved to, my first adventure was finding the local library to reunite with my true first love, books. The way they feel in my hands, their smell, their words that can heal, inspire and bring me to faraway places whenever I need to get away. The artful dust jackets hinting at what I might discover among the pages. I wish she understood or could find comfort there too. I sigh, remembering how different we truly are. When she got divorced, I sent her a gift and encouraging words to bring solace from here to there. The eve of my divorce she called me to say, “Just checking to be sure you’re not trying to hang yourself from the shower curtain rod, you know it won’t hold you.” Yes, we do put the fun in dysfunctional. Only she could make me chuckle when it was painful to just find a way to keep from falling apart.

I shake off the snowflakes and find my key with a wet glove. I open the door and flip the light switch to climb the stairs to my apartment. It’s tucked away on the second floor of an old, Victorian home with big windows, lots of trees and (cue ethereal lighting) a big, claw-foot bathtub. Yes, that’s absolutely why I took the apartment. This majestic piece of porcelain called my name and I answered. I’m drawn to simple and uncomplicated. Upgrades, bigger, better, faster all gives me a headache. I let my clothes fall to the old hardwood floor. I pour a glass of wine and draw a hot bath full of bubbles and light my candles. The healing waters of home. One quarter of my tank has been filled here I think over the last many months. Floating, thinking, and seeking the answers to understand my passage to this very night. How could I believe, that marriage, was all that I deserved in this one precious life. I slip into the bubbles, steam frosts the little window looking out over the trees. Tears effortlessly fill my eyes and inch down my cheeks. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and feel the rhythm of each inhale followed by a slow, releasing exhale. A sip of wine and a whisper to my angels, “You got me this far, I know you wouldn’t let me down now.” With my toe, I play with the dripping faucet as I reassure myself that right now in this moment, I am OK and at peace. I look out the window, the steam droplets streaking the glass as my tears begin to drip from my chin. Another breath, another sip as I slide further under the big white blanket of bubbles. They tickle my nose. My phone vibrates on the floor next to the tub, it’s my Maggie. I grab a towel and dry my hand. I answer, “Hey.” Right on cue, “What are you doing?” I grin and wipe my eyes. “Crying in a bubble bath.” Wait for it…”Oh my God, are you drinking wine? You have to move on, get back out there. Don’t live in the past.” “Yes I’m drinking wine. It’s OK, sometimes bubble baths are the perfect place for tears. It’s healing. I’ve told you I am in no rush. I’m not chasing life. I’m open to receiving whatever comes next.” Maggie, “You’re so weird.” We chat for a while, catch up on things. I tell her I love her and thank her for checking on me. Maggie, “Whatever. Talk to you later.” I understand and accept who she is. Different journeys but we started on the same path, two little girls side-by-side.  I step out of the tub and dry off with my favorite pink towel. It’s not new or plush, it simply buffs my skin, absorbing the water and my tears just right. 

I slip into pajama bottoms and an old Stevie Nicks concert t-shirt, pour another glass of wine and curl up in my reading chair. I reach down and lift one of the books to my lap. “I’m not living in the past am I?” as I look around my apartment. “No, definitely not but am I somehow letting the past live in me?” I begin reading and let my thoughts slip away as the words from the pages fill this tired space in my head. A few hours pass, I close the book and place it in my chair as I find my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I see my flushed cheeks in the mirror and notice a few bubbles saving themselves from the drain, “I know how you feel” mumbling as I grab the toothpaste. I crack the window ever so slightly to let in a gentle winter breeze. The sheets are crisp and cool, my comforter blue like the sky, hugs me warmly as I drift off to sleep “No, the past isn’t living in me. My heart broke open and let the past out. I’m just being me, trusting life.”

I awake to a wonderful winter morning. I grab hot coffee as I walk towards the stairs when I remember the book, its due back today. I gaze out the office window, it's dark. I look up at the clock on the wall, it’s been a busy day. It’s getting late. I grab my bag and see the book; I think I may just make it before the library closes. Walking quickly, I rush towards the park, enjoying the snow sparkling under the December full moon. I begin to remember reading that a full moon symbolizes completion, the peak of clarity. When you see it, it is a time to celebrate your growth, take note of what progress you've made and to reflect on how far you've come. I’m wondering if my tank is fuller than I think? As I slip and slide across the icy patches towards the library door, the lights suddenly go off and the interior goes dark; I was so close. I walk towards the book drop and look up to see a tall silhouette. Note to self, call Maggie and inform her I am not weird, someone else enjoys the library too. I would take a picture to prove it but that, would be weird. I wait, lightly tapping my feet to shake the chill, he turns and slightly brushes my arm apologizing. He looks and smiles. He is handsome with big, dark, kind eyes. I want to say something but the words don’t come. He says “let me” and softly takes the book from my hands catching a glimpse of the title as the book drops. “You like Cleopatra?” I can do this, “I do. She’s fascinating.” He continues to hold my gaze, I want to look away when he surprises me, “I’d enjoy hearing about it. Would you like to grab coffee?” I’m too old to blush but I think I might be. I take a deep breath, hoping it was hidden “I’d like that. I promise not to poison you. I mean, I’m joking, it’s a Cleopatra thing.” His smile gets bigger, “I really want to hear about it now.” We begin walking towards the Square, I look to the sky then look to him, ”What book did you return?”