In life, memories are built on repetition and significance. I remember school because I went there every Monday through Friday from seven in the morning to three in the afternoon. In those halls I can recall the distinct smell of processed food and sweaty pre-teens. I can still see those carpeted floors that looked, and smelt, of throw up. I can recollect disliking my gym teachers as they watched us running our miles while they stuffed themselves fatter with popcorn and ice cream. (It was hypocritical). I don’t specifically remember days unless they are important to me. I can still remember the day John kissed me. I remember when Sandy and I got in an argument over whose feet were bigger (mine were).
Summer was always different than the other season because there was no routine. Well actually, I always managed to establish a routine, but it was at least different than the one I had grown used to over nine months of school. In the mornings, I would sleep. In the afternoons, I would go to the library everyday. I’d get home by dark and mom would make dinner and then I could watch television.
The library was a sort of sanctuary. It wasn’t more than a couple miles from home, and I could easily walk there or bike there everyday. It didn’t cost money, unless I had over-do books. Outside of the library was a small pond that I could sit at with Sandy or John and just hang out. It was a public library, so it was a pretty safe place, especially in our cozy suburbia.
Every time I was at the library, I felt mature. Of course, I wasn’t, I was only fourteen, but the feeling of independence was what strove me to go there everyday. I mean the books were entertaining to read, even educational, but those weren’t half as alluring as the idea of freedom, adulthood. I got to go there when I wanted, do what I wanted there with whomever I wanted. There were no forced group projects or required class times. The librarians even separated the parts of the library out from Children’s books, to the “Teen” section, to Adult. I didn’t have to deal with some bratty kid screaming bloody murder and I didn’t have to listen to the dreary discussions of the Women’s Book Club (when I say “discussions, I really mean gossiping). In the Teen section I could find books at my level of reading and hang out with people of my age.
It was rare that you would see a child in the adult section or an adult in the teen section, but those things happened from time to time. I remember one day Sandy and I went to the library together and as we wandered into the Teen section, there was a man just lying on the sofa. He looked middle aged. He was white and blond haired, though his hair was thinning. He looked plain. His arms were crossed and his legs rested on the armrest. His head was angled upwards. Through a pair of glasses, I could see him look at us as we walked by him. He said nothing of course. If I remember right, that was a late Saturday. Sandy and I went to the library later that day because our parents had gone on a double date night and we had nothing better to do. Sandy and I had sorted through various books, she came out with six heavy reading books and I had come out with two decently sized ones. Sandy was always a much more impressive reader than I was. When we came back to the sofa, the man was gone.
“That guy was kind of creepy,” Sandy laughed quietly.
“I know, he was just staring at us.”
“I know.”
That was really all either of us had cared to say about the matter. As we checked out our books, I noticed that the sun was getting low on the horizon. Checking the clock on the wall, I noticed it was already eight-fifty and the library was about to close. Sandy and I hurried up and left.
That evening had a sky that was tangerine orange. It made my mouth water with a craving for the fresh oranges my mom had for me had home. Sandy and I stuffed our books into our backpacks. We walked side by side on the pavement as walkers and their friendly dogs passed us by with their tails-a-wagging. The air was warm, but I could almost taste a crispness of fall that blew in with the wind. Crickets and cicadas played their insect symphonies, but otherwise, the air was silent. As I was walking, my mind was wandering. I wonder what classes I’ll take this year, I can’t believe school is about to start, I haven’t seen John since-
“Anna,” Sandy elbows me in the rib and I grunt. “Anna, that guy from the library is walking behind us. “
I open my mouth to speak, but with a clap I closed it. I don’t want him to know that I know he was there, or that it bothers me. I feel like it would be rude of me to point out. Instead, I looked at where we are. The sidewalk is dimly lit and now there is almost complete silence. The sky is now a plum instead of a tangerine, and there are no more friendly dogs. Only Sandy, the stranger and me. Suddenly I feel a quickening pulse in my chest, my red alert going off in my brain. I figure if my brain and my heart both tell me something is wrong, then something is wrong. I grab Sandys hand. I feel that this will comfort her, but better yet, it will comfort me. Well, the real purpose of it is to keep us together. I hold her hand tight in mine and she holds tight back. At least we won’t get separated
Of course, I was only assuming that he was some sort of evil man. A twisted pervert that was out for our virginity, that’s what he was. But he could have also just been coincidentally going this way to get home. Maybe he had a sweet wife waiting for him at home, or hell, maybe a cat. Either way, he could have just been a normal guy on an evening stroll and I could have been paranoid.
But I wasn’t.
The only thing I can hear is our footsteps. I hear six feet and I need to hear four. I look down at my feet and synchronize my steps with Sandy’s. His feet and ours are the only sounds left on those dead streets. His are coming closer and closer, louder and louder and all I can think is that this is the most anti-climactic chase seen ever. My head is otherwise buzzing with the whispers of adrenaline at the beat of an increasing heartbeat. I know it can’t go on like this, he is getting too close now, I can hear his precise breaths almost on my neck now. It was fight or flight.
The next thing I know I’m jerked forward and I’m running. Sandy is a step ahead of me. We don’t let go of each other’s hands, we grasp tighter than ever and I swear that the circulation is being cut off in my fingers, but that’s okay because all of the blood is going to my heart and my legs and my lungs. I’m trying to listen for four feet but all I can hear is feet scrambling. I stumble over a crack and about I’m fall on my face, but Sandy pulls me back up and I’m still alive. Finally I build the courage to look back. I don’t see him, but I can hear him. I can hear his breaths. He is breathing fast. He might be running, but his breath is also fading. I still don’t feel like he is far enough.
I look forward and can see a light not too far in the distance. I know we weren’t close to home, but we were still in the neighborhood. I see the light at the end of the tunnel and I run blindly towards it, without a second thought about what it was. Sandy is beside me, when I look back. the stranger is gone. I’m thinking now that we’re going to make it.
It seemed like hours passed by before we reached that light when it probably wasn’t any more than five minutes. We reached the light, which turned out to be a grocery store, and went inside. Breathlessly we asked the clerk to use a phone and she gladly let us use one (“Oh honey, you can have anything you ask for, just take a sit down”). I’m sure nothing is more unsettling than seeing two girls who look like they saw some sort of Boogey Man. She looked at us with a sort of eagerness in her eyes, a curiosity for gossip. (I’m sure she would have fit in well in the book club). I called my mom.
“M-mom, could you please pick us up from, where are we…Safeway?”
“Anna, we’re in the middle of-“
But she heard my shuttered breaths and knew something was wrong.
“Please, mom, some guy was f-following us and we’re scared.” I didn’t hesitate to tell her, I didn’t care if some old nosy woman was watching my face like a damn television. I was mortified.
“What-why-ugh,” She pauses and sighs, “Okay we’ll be there soon, sweetheart. Stay where you are.”
After that night, my mom said that I couldn’t walk home from the library after six in the evening, after four in winter. I didn’t complain. Every time I went to the library after that, I kept my eyes open for the man on the sofa, but I never saw him again. I felt like going into the Teen section was more like going into a memory, just one memory. All of my other memories of the library had been scarred. All the repetition was crushed by what was significant and I couldn’t see the library as a sanctuary anymore. Sandy and I rarely talked about that night after the first couple of days, both of us were eager to lock that memory away I suppose.
But I can still remember his face. I can remember his plain face, his thinning blond hair and pale skin. I can remember the ghost of him chasing me and Sandy through the night, those breaths that nearly touched the skin on my neck. I can still feel Sandy’s shaking hands clinging to my own, our arms swinging as we ran through the night. Perhaps the event wasn’t all that significant, but as a teenager in the suburbs, that kind of fear is as real as any. Sometimes, it is difficult to bury the memories that are significant. Sometimes it is difficult to remember the memories of the repetitive and routine, and sometimes, your only sanctuary is you.
Best,
Anna Belle Lee
