Lost Time

“This is the last and final warning,” the small elderly man grunted at us as we sat in the back corner of the library, “Have you no respect for the other patrons?”

           I slowly looked around as did Alma. We both shrugged. There was no one else in the library and we hadn’t been talking. We watched as the old man tottered off back behind his counter and computer.

           “What a grump,” Alma said under her breath and bifocals.

           “Shut it Alma,” I retorted quickly, “We’ll get in real trouble.”

           Alma snorted, “What’s he going to do? Throw us out? I can walk fast with my walker and you could whack him with your cane if it came down to it.”

           I smiled and readjusted my teeth thinking about our united attack against this indignant librarian. We hadn’t been to this library in years and just started returning because the trip downtown on the bus from Sunny Glen had become too long for us. Alma and I had been childhood friends, went our separate ways after high school, and then found each other again after our husbands had died. We lived in adjoining one-bedroom apartments and left every day after breakfast to go to the library to read. This was our second day at this new library. It was closer. It unfortunately had less books, and it had the most cantankerous clerk of all time. He was always watching us, well Alma mostly.

           I readjusted the cushion on my seat and settled back into my novel. Alma pushed her blue-sequined glasses up further onto her nose and sniffed.

           Behind the counter, the annoyed librarian’s head turned abruptly towards us. We both raised our books a little higher and snickered at the idea that he was going to yell at Alma for sniffing too loudly.

           A bell rang from the front of the library and two teenagers casually walked in. Both wore head-to-toe ripped black clothing, and one had a sweatshirt hood covering his bobbing head.

           “Hey Randolph,” the first teen said and offered his hand to the clerk.

           “Hello Malachai,” the clerk responded almost cheerily as he shook the teen’s hand, “I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?”

           “Good. Finally finished that research paper about the Beat poets. Thanks again for all of your help with the research. The books and poems you recommended impressed my teacher. She couldn’t believe I sat and read books instead of using a computer.”

           Both of them laughed as the other teen kept bobbing his head and looking around. The cords extending from his hood showed his musical distraction.

           “Here are the books back. I really like that Ginsberg guy.”

Randolph smiled as he nodded and accepted the short stack of books, “Yes. His work really opened a lot of people’s eyes.”

“Do you have any other recommendations? I want to start writing more songs for the band and I was thinking about reading some more poetry first.”

“Sure,” Randolph said as he strolled over to a bookcase near the windows at the front of the library, “Langston Hughes used to pair writing with Jazz music because the flow of them together made sense to him. His words always make me think of music.”

Their voices trailed off as I looked back at my book. I let my mind drift back into my own medieval pages. Lately, Victorian dramas with realistic lives fascinated me. The clothing, classes of people, and the absolute desire for nobility, real or imagined, captivated my imagination. My eyes floated page after page watching lives be destroyed as other lives rose briefly to avoid suffering the same ravages.

While flipping a page, I noticed Alma staring at the clerk whose head was looking down at a pile of cards in front of him. We were sitting across the table from each other, and his ominous perch was to her right and my left. She was definitely staring at him.

“What are you looking at Alma,” my whisper was a little louder than I expected, but that has become the norm since I got my hearing aids.

Alma jumped slightly and dropped her book onto the table with a dull thud.

“Nothing. I have not been looking at the clerk. He wasn’t staring at me either. We just…” Her replies were short and fast like a child caught stealing candy.

The teens were still up near the front and didn’t notice Alma’s dropped book. The boy listening to music was drumming lightly on the bookcase as he read from a small open book. Both boys seemed to be engrossed in poetry and nodding their heads almost simultaneously.

Suddenly, Randolph was at our table again, “I have warned you both,” he started, but before he could say anything else Alma broke into his tirade.

“Is your name Randolph Boggswell?”

His hesitation was momentary, “Yes…why?”

“You went to school with us.”

It was then that I remembered his name more clearly. Alma was right. Randolph Boggswell was in our class. He was a member of all the sports teams and relatively smart. He didn’t stand out, but he was known and liked by almost everyone.

“You are correct,” his response was icy and directed at her more than me.

Her face fell and she lowered her head. Before I could ask if she was alright, she spoke very softly, “I’m still sorry Randy. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” The lie was obvious, even to me, and I had no idea what they were talking about. 

Alma dated Theo, not Randolph, throughout high school and married him immediately after graduation. He had been drafted and was afraid that he wouldn’t return. They married at the courthouse, took a three-day honeymoon in the mountains hiking, and then he left. He returned after the war and they moved away until Alma came home to be nearer to her sisters and their families.

“I did Randy. It hurt me too.” She had removed her reading glasses and was looking up at Randolph now directly.

“Hurt you?” His answer was a short burst of surprise, anger, and a cough, “You didn’t love him.”

“I didn’t then, but I grew to love him.”

“That’s convenient for you both, isn’t it?” The sarcasm almost dripped off of his words as he started to go back to his counter.

“Did you ever marry?” Alma’s question hung in the air. As Randolph turned to answer it, the teenagers broke the silence.

“Hey Randolph,” Malachai said from the front of the library, “I’ll be back tomorrow after class to check out those two poetry books.”

Malachai slapped the other teen who finally removed his earphones and offered, “Bye grandpa. See you at dinner, man.” Both teens genuinely smiled and waved at Randolph before walking out the front door.

“I see,” Alma observed.

“You see what you want to see,” Randolph quipped, “My wife died five years ago as did my daughter. They were coming home from church when a semi-truck hit the SUV they were in. Lennon and I have been living together since. His dad left early and all we talk about are books. He used to live in here with me after school, but now he is all about his music.” Randolph’s shoulders drooped slightly as he continued, “I do not mind though. His bandmates are good kids and their music is really good. The lyrics have meaning and they are not interested in just being the next sensation. We just don’t talk much anymore.”

The loneliness in the last sentence was real and we didn’t need to see his face to know his cheeks were no longer dry. He sniffed slightly and walked away.

“Did you two date in high school?” I asked after he was back behind the counter.

“Sort of,” Alma said, “We never went to dances together or out on dates, but we were always together. Every night we did homework together and we spent the summers fishing and hiking through the woods behind our houses.”

Alma smiled and I could see there was a whole part of her I never knew. We were best friends at school, but we didn’t spend much time together if it wasn’t for a school activity, class, or club. I wasn’t exactly sure where her house was when we were kids. Theo brought her everywhere when he got his license.

“Did you love Randolph?”

“Very much,” Alma said and closed her book, “Theo was so charismatic though. With him, life was fun and exciting, and with Randolph I felt safe and loved. At eighteen, I always thought fun and exciting would turn into safe and loved, so I chose Theo.”

“Do you regret it?” I asked.

“How could I regret it now, Charlotte? Theo gave me the chance to travel the world, have three incredibly unique children, and retire comfortably. I am able to sit here with you, because Theo was the man he was, and I married him.”

She didn’t answer my question, but that was alright. Those types of questions aren’t really meant to be answered.

“He still loves you,” I said and pulled her book away from her.

Her eyes found mine and I could see the faint glisten of tears making her blink.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about him. Do you think he still likes to fish?”

“Go ask him,” I said and patted her hand, “What’s the worst he’s going to do? Throw us out? I’ll be on standby with my cane if you need me.”

Alma used a tissue to dab her eyes and laughed as she lightly blew her nose. She rose from the table and used her walker to get to the counter. She swung the walker around like a barstool and sat on the cushion right in front of Randolph.

“Hey good lookin’. Do you come here often?”

His laughter made the entire room fill with sunshine and I spent the next two hours reading while Alma and Randolph made up for lost time.