Rain had taken over. Fog, blurred my vision, and a responsibility to show up and actually work a shift consumed my ever waking minutes. I really didn’t care. There wasn’t much to be concerned about. One has to wake, dress, and leave. Wait, help, type, and leave-I guess. To come home and wait more. To come home and wait. To come home and wait. To read. Wait, what is happening here?
I thought about this on that early autumn day whilst biking in the rain to work. I thought, “Hey! At least my feet are dry.” I decided at the beginning of the day to wear boots instead of Chuck Taylor’s. I decided to wear my rain gear, which was missing upon departure. It was fixed to my my girlfriends bike. Rain beads streamed down my helmet and my face. I was biking to St. Paul. I wasn’t even midway through Como when I realized my pants were completely saturated. My ass! I stood up on my pedals releasing my bottom from the slick seat. Bad idea, I now understood what it was like to have a wet arse. The bike ride, however, was going swimmingly. Not pun.
Grey skies hung, one could see the blue through too, but it wouldn’t become prevalent for a few more hours. Maybe 6 pm, just before sunset one could see the sun.
I sat with my beer and a cigarette, they lay on the ground next to where I was. Ah… Oktoberfest. I remained talking on the phone with my mother about travel, math, and drinking. I couldn’t make it to Oktoberfest this year, not a big deal. I can get drunk anytime. I can waste time anytime. So on. I just wish I could see my family more and work less; however, being in school and doing a work study does not afford that luxury. I am sure they will understand; however, YOLO.
Air in autumn almost seems fresher than any other season. We see the cold air come through. Reminds me of Elliot Smith, or some other dark song writer, maybe POE. Leaves leaving their stems on the trees. The ones we once prayed for in Spring.
Now the buses drive by, I am avoiding puddles and potholes. I couldn’t afford a flat, and I would like to keep somewhat dry. The hill ahead. The hill ahead, pedal harder, fast, but stay the same speed!
Pray that cars notice rather than text.
I wear a helmet now after falling a few times coming home from Yelp elite writer’s parties. I wear Ray Bans in the rain to shield my eyes from stray drops; they do nothing but catch drops and smudge up.
Water for what? It’s not like new growth will happen in the time from now until the first snow fall. I guess the weather is just wishful thinking.
Progress in the community; campaign signs, letters telling to vote, where to vote, and maybe who to vote for. Fall is in full swing. Festivities, fairs,and parades. We see one another one last time before the big freeze, before the snow lines the streets and homes. We all become shut-ins. Before all of our community is white with frost. It is nice. I bike in the rain. This could be ice. Could be-will be in a few months.
Part of my job is like a few scenes in The Shining. I am in a very remote location surrounded by things which are old, and things which I do not understand.
My co-worker came up from the depths and threw me the key. I was at the desk. Outside it was still gloomy, but the rain had slowed. She said, “It’s your turn, just two rows of journals left.” A.) I dislike journals because they are hard to locate, esp. in the rare and unique section of the library, which is located in the basement. B.) This would be the first time I had worked in the basement and everything had to be place in perfect order. Wow, there was a lot on my plate now. I had to set the Diet Cherry Cola down and roll up the ole’ sleeves. Darn. No more Facebook.
I walked the two flights of stairs just below the heavy metal door which slammed behind me midway down. The thing about these buildings is that on the weekends there are only really a handful of people in a 3 mile radius. No one knows anything, or can hear anything. The only thing you hear are doors latching and unlatching, swinging on rusty hinges, and then slamming shut. Oh, and you can hear your footsteps.
Maybe the inner workings of the buildings will sound a noise; the furnace, the air-duct, the lights, they all have their own specials sound. They all say “hi” in their own special way.
The silence affords one the opportunity to hear everything. I swear I could hear my heart beat, not out of fear, but just out of sheer lack of sound. I walked the hallway. All the rooms dark, just a line of lockers ahead, a few more double-doors, and then a left. I was there. A metal vault of a basement room where very expensive and rare things exist. This is where I will be for the next few hours. Give or take.
This is the time where you notice that one of your shoes makes the most annoying squeaking sound in existence. Where laminations reflect a face, or a shadow, or eyes, or just your visage. Sounds of shaking shelves bring back old fears, embarrassing revelations. A past life.
One thinks of Stephen King, he must be scared shitless.
A girl did this before I did, so it wasn’t bad. I thought. I couldn’t find anything, and then I saw it.
She said she just blasted music. I couldn’t bring myself to putting earbuds in.
I found it on the wall whilst looking for something I couldn’t find. You think, “It couldn’t be…” Well it was. On the wall in front of me were blood splatters, smears. I looked on the floor. Nothing. I did circles. Looking through slots between the shelves, no one. To the floor, no feet. No evidence. Just blood on the wall. Thousands of books and lights above and me, and nothing. The key ring I secured as a bracelet on my wrist hung and clinked a sound. I knew where I was. The sound showed everything this same fact. I stood looking at this art work. And I was seriously becoming afraid of motion-sensor lights.