poemtry and prose

My heart still pounds as i stand outside of Lincoln. The Quad is filled with students walking into and out of the Student Center, chatting and laughing with one another. No one knows what i have just done. What HAVE i just done? My mind replays the event over in my head. Something wild must have swept over me as I’ve never done this before. My heart still pounds, the message, i hope no one saw me, what did i just do, over and over again.

The air grows colder. Once again, my left hand tugs the jacket closer around me. Almost shamefully, trying to hide the great big neon sign that displays itself across my chest, “LOOSER. Just stole a book from a library.” My head droops, in an attempt to avoid the piercing stares of people around me and in the attempt to avoid my friends before they notice me and my mood. My pace and breath quicken, i want to run, to sprint back to my studio. The shame now turns into excitement and anticipation of what i can find in the book. My mind turns inwards dreaming of all the things that book holds, what it can teach me, can i use it for my paper, when...

SMACK!

I fall over backwards. Hard. Onto the cement. “Ugh, “ i stammer, looking up.

“Hey, watch where your going! Oh Kendra, it’s you,” the husky voice of Jeff comes with a friendly hand ready to help me back to my feet.

“Thanks Jeff, I’m sorry. I really really didn’t mean to run into anyone.” Waves of red wash over my face. Gawd, what a really dumb thing to say. “I was uh, preoccupied. On my way home. Got some stuff to do there.”

“Obviously. So what IS on your mind to get you running that fast? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move that fast. And that INCLUDES playing Ultimate Frisbee.”

My heart pounds more, what do i say. What do i say. i want to tell the truth but at the same time i also want to lie. Jeff hovers over me, staring at me, ready to hear me pronounce my decree. His brown eyes glisten in the sun, while his hair wavers in the light October wind. He and i have English 300 together and have participated in study groups in the past, for exams in Chemistry. I barely know him but i know that his brains equal that of his body and it makes me a bit nervous to do what i am about to do.

I open my mouth, “I had inspiration for the English paper due in a week, and wanted to run home to add it into my laptop. I know that sounds silly but when the muse strikes, you better listen.” And i say that, adding a feeble giggle to the end.

“Actually, yeah. I do understand what happens when you have an important thought or two that you want to get out before it’s lost. Hey, i’ll call you later, maybe we can go out and catch that new anime flick at the Orion?” he smiles, and i relax.

“Sure. Sounds great. Catch you later.” I wave and dart off once more. This time being a little more careful about what obstacles are in my way.

My stomach tells me it’s in need of more fuel. I guess that’s a pretty fair thing to say, considering that i haven’t eaten since last night. I sprint the last 500 yards to the studio complex. And fumble for my keys in my jeans.

The metal door is cold and clammy; again thoughts of snow enter my head. I hate being cold, i like the cool October air, with the sun shining and leaves turning color. This is my favorite time of year.

Gray, slotted mailboxes line the foyer area on both sides. Typically when i get in i go straight to them, to see what bills and packages and mail friends have sent me. Today, however, i head straight upstairs. The whoosh of air causing the hanging spider plants near me to sway.

I have 3 flights of stairs to run, no one is on the stairs making my retreat into my studio a clean break. Room 15 halfway down the hall is my sanctuary. The outside of the door plastered with posters and notes and things i find cool. The studio complex is similar to the dorms but mostly for older and graduate students looking to escape the noise and silliness of the younger crowd.

I came to college to study, party a little bit, but after a year in the dorms, and after loosing 15 pounds due to the horrible dorm food, i opted for this quiet and homely community nestled close by the main area of campus. It’s not much, mostly a big room, with a bathroom, sink, stove and refrigerator, but it’s my space.

I set my backpack down by the front door, turn on the lights and look around my studio. The blinds are still drawn, and so are the curtains i hung up to give the place a more homely feeling. i didn’t bother to open them before i left for Lincoln this morning. Mosi sleeps in almost the same position, as she was when I got up. The black sheets a tangled mess on top of her. I smile at the sight and go over to tell her what i just found. The walls are a bit bare, a few posters and gargoyle sculptures line key points of what I consider rooms within the space. My bed sits in the northeast corner, the closet with clothing and my bookshelf to the right of it. I really do not own many clothes so i was able to fit a wooden bookcase into one side of the closet, giving my small space some more room. Over my bed rest my two gargoyle candle scones. Between them an a dark painting of a faerie wearing gothic-style clothing is nailed into the wall, framed in black.

My reading corner is in the northwest corner of the room. I have separated it from my bedroom by a japanese style koji screen. It is a modern style that has a few shelves where plastic flowers, an incense burner, rocks and other stuff have been meticulously placed. The screen even has places to hang pictures from them and i have hung images of katakana, favorite goth images of me and friends and other miscellany that defines what i would call my lifestyle. Behind that are the chair and table that i use when i write and read. My laptop bag with my black power book leans next to the chair ready and waiting for when i have inspiration to write something down.

Along the west wall, is my kitchen area, a door off to one side leads into the bathroom. Not much decorates my bathroom either. I placed one painting of my astrological sign, also given to me by a friend from high school and a few candles to light when I am in the mood for a bath. I am lucky I got this particular studio, most of the others don’t have such a large main room. Most of the others don’t even have a bathtub in their bathrooms.

I wander over to Mosi and perch on the right corner of the bed.

“I did something i probably shouldn’t have done. Mosi, I don’t know what came over me but i had to have it. There was this book. This really old and dusty yet pretty book and well, from the bits and pieces i read and from what i saw. Oh Mosi. I just slipped it into my bag. And I have no idea what i will do with it when i am done with it.”

Mosi’s big green eyes stare back at me, she purrs contentedly, making what i did almost sound natural, like i was supposed to do what i had done. She makes me smile.

“You are such a good cat, Mosi. I love you. You won’t tell anyone my secrets will you kitten.”

I get up, torn between making a quick meal first or dive into what’s in the book. My stomach protests louder. Okay, you win. The fridge appears barren; I decide I’m going to have to go to the store soon. The freezer, however, has a few items left. I grab a microwave french fries package, dump salt in it, and drop it haphazardly into the microwave. Since the microwave is over by the phone and answering machine, i glance over to see if i have any messages. There are none.

I sigh, feeling confident that i will not be disturbed when i start reading the book. To make the occasion seem even more special, i contemplate putting on some music, incense and candles. Then decide I’m being way to silly about this. After all, the book may not even be anything. Heck it’s probably just someone’s home-brewed novel or forgotten thesis. Why do i do this to myself?

I am trying really hard not to set myself up for a fall, but my gut tells me that there really is something special about this book and that it will change the way i think and see myself. Who can refuse a gift like that?

The bell for the microwave goes off, waking me from my mental meandering. “Shit!” The hot box of fries scalds my hands. Feverishly i begin eating, my stomach joyfully happy that i headed it’s call and fed it something good and tasty. Ever since i was a little girl, french fries have been my favorite snack. It may not be much, but for now it’ll diminish the cravings i have.

Five minutes, and a half glass of cold chai later, I am ready to take out the book and delve into their contents. The empty fry box goes into my black-bulleted style trash can. I sigh and inhale and clap my hands.

“Okay, let’s open this up,” i call out at Mosi. The sleeping cat stretches out, almost on cue and saunters over to me ready to get into the action.

ZIPPPP... the black backpack decorated with buttons of anarchy and goth music groups pops open exposing the book. I now see that the edges of the pages were once colored with gold foil now dimmed from age and weather. I bend over and smell the book. Again the fumes of must and slowly decomposing paper raise into my nostrils. I clear off my comfy reading chair, actually the only piece of furniture i brought with me from my hometown of Portright, Colorado. The chair has seen better days. Its back and brown checkered, sort of a reject from the 70’s era. My favorite purple blanket is carelessly thrown over it, looking very fashionably comfortable. Occasionally, when no one else is over or i am not in the chair, i keep a brown pillow with books and pens on it, the quote, “the pen is mightier” written all over it. This was a gift from my grandma after she discovered i was going into college.

Sitting next to this chair is my night stand/book table with a small, ever-growing stack of books i should read before delving into this one more. A black-based, white shaded table lamp rests next to the pile, a tassel with my high school graduation date thrown over the twisting on switch. This chair has gotten me through many, many late night sessions of writing and reading and researching my papers. The table, also has seen better days, the finish worn off through years of dumping books on it and setting tea-filled coffee mugs on it. Rings outline many of the free-table space.

I move a throw pillow off the chair and fling it onto the bed. Mosi darts at it, playfully but runs under the black covers instead. I flick on the switch and the light glow of lamplight fills the corner of the room. Then i settle into the chair with a plop, crossing my legs between the armrests, giving the book some support so that i don’t break it or damage it in any way.

I pull back the hard cover, back to the page that holds the original inscription on it. Rereading it this time the words formulate questions in my head. What knowledge does this book possibly hold, and which Goddess does this refer to? Who wrote it? and why? And how did it end up in Lincoln Library? Why was i the one to find this?

I run my finger over the page, feeling small, faded bumps where the person’s pen met the page. My heart races again and i turn the page.