She had a place to go when they broke up, but once she had all her things packed and in her car, the place was gone. Pulled out from under her. Her car was her home, except when it was too hot to stay inside. She had to walk to save gas. She couldn’t believe she had gotten into this situation.
But staying would have been worse.
Without a home, without an address, no one would hire her. Without a job, no one would give her a home. She could only do one of two things, and she would not, WOULD not do that first thing. She sat on a corner close to where her car was parked, under a willow tree, just outside the library. She reasoned that people who read were gentle, and intelligent, and didn’t just spend a lot of money. She didn’t know someone watched her out the window whenever she was there.
She was chased off by a meter maid and given a warning about panhandling. She still had a library card from when she lived in THAT house, though. She showed it. It was virtually all she had left. She went inside from then on. The books… she could get lost in them. She could escape, for just a little while.
He saw her come inside, a rare event. One that he was prepared for. He knew her. He had been standing behind her, once, at a coffee shop. Coffee. That’s it. No fancy orders. Simple. He liked simple. Whatever her situation now, he… may not be able to fix it, but he could make it simple.
She saw him. He walked up and sat in the chair across from her. He told her she had great taste in authors. She rolled her eyes. He laughed. He then revealed that she was reading a book he had written. Procatalepsis – he already had his identification out, ready to prove his claim.
She was duly impressed. But he admitted something to her. The book she had pulled off the shelf, of all the books in that entire building – the library had no knowledge of it. He had printed the sticker on the binding, and placed it on the shelf himself, hoping for word of mouth. She had chosen him. She was shocked. Disbelief.
She attempted to check the book out. Indeed, there was a malfunction. Not recognized. Error. She looked at him. He smiled. Neither of them believed in destiny or fate. But both of them believed in seizing the moment.
They already spoke the same language. The bookworm that became a butterfly.