There is a veil between us; between the world and I. I see these beings flit around me in a filmy light. I can see them, but they’re unclear; almost like ghosts from another dimension. I get closer but they disappear like a mist that disappears quickly in the sunlight. They ask me where the books are, the music, the magazines. Sometimes I get their movies and point them towards their books on hold. And occasionally I hear their stories.
I hear of their favorite books. I heard about Anne Perry’s true past, the one where she murdered her friend’s mother at the age of 15. I’ve heard about good movies, strange songs, and depressing memoirs. And then I hear about their personal stories: troubles with kids as their kids sit behind them screaming, bad companies to work for, and vacations to exotic places.
The kids are the best. They’ll peek over the counter, grin and say “Hi!” A boy has told me about his colorful shoes, how they changed colors and made him feel important. Or the girl who was “freaked out” because she found all these awesome bug books.
They come and go, too quick for me to get to know. But at least I get some character sketches of interesting people who use the library?