She sat on the floor, knees bent. Sheltered in the back stacks of the library, in the unpopular sections, like poetry, biographies, and various literature, the scent of musty books, aged paper and ink, and time gone by, she let the atmosphere float around her. An irregular square of light reflected on the wall above her head, its shape constantly moving from the wind tossing around the Norway maple shading the skylight that was the square.
Sounds of rustling paper, the tapping of keyboard keys, and murmured discussions sent a prickle of delight up her spine. Goose-flesh broke out on her skin and she could feel every hair on her head tense. She loved this feeling. It relaxed her like nothing else. Sometimes she would get the same tingle when someone brushed her hair.
There was a tranquility being in the library. No one bothered her while she flipped through a book of Emily Dickinson’s poetry. She read random lines, not really focusing on the words, but letting them roll off her form like water rolls off a duck’s back. Noticeable, but not. She floated in mind as she read but still consciously listened to the movement of other patrons.
A printer turned on and the warm, whirring motor sound made her feel like she was in a warm blanket. Keys clicked on a keyboard and she pictured an office with secretaries typing away. A newspaper crackled as someone shook out the pages. She pictured an old man with white hair, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose.
A couple of school girls came in, giggling and joking with each other, more loudly then they should have been. The sound jarred her for a moment before she heard the librarian shush them. They scurried off towards some other deep recess of the library, still giggling. The heating system turned on and she felt the warm air blow up behind her back. She was practically sitting on the vent in the floor.
She sat there just being a part of the library. Hiding in the stacks.
Okay, flash fiction time! I think this is my new favorite thing, now that I know that I’m actually doing it. I love the library. I used to be a substitute librarian for two years and it was my thing. I still go to my local library on a weekly basis, more if I have time, and I can be found sitting on the floor in the poetry section, many times. So if you happen to see me there, ‘shush’, I’m reading and taking it all in. Probably with the relaxed gooseflesh hair raised thing going on.