We were entering the library at the exact same pace. I typically delight in the awkwardness this type of situation can create. Not willing to change my speed of swagger, I enjoy maintaining my stride to see how the stranger will react. Usually it is them who will tire of our new found synchronicity and jut out ahead or fall back in defeat. Not this one. He stayed the course. “Hi. How are you?” I looked over at him, shocked, “Good. I’m good. How are you?” “Fine, thank you.” He was a large man. Mid-forties. Mounds of black curls fought to escape the claustrophobia of his baseball cap that, on account of all the hair, looked amusingly small atop his head. He wore layers; a white t-shirt, maroon button-down, red hooded sweatshirt, and denim jacket. None of them had been recently laundered. His face was bright. The apples of his cheeks, preening themselves on their youthful brilliance, boasted a fine shade of flushed pink. He did not wear his smile; his smile wore him. He wasn’t particularly attractive but I enjoyed looking at him the way moths enjoy gaping at porch lights. He radiated a certain ‘joie de vivre’ that was pleasantly incongruent with the dreary Seattle weather. His accent hailed from somewhere much warmer and uncomplicated. There is a good possibility this man was homeless. He opened the door and motioned for me to enter first. We ascended the neon yellow escalator of the Seattle Public Library and I stood a few comfortable steps ahead of him. “You shouldn’t think so much,” he remarked to my back. I turned around to face him in disbelief. The glare of the acidic lemon walls gave him a certain spiritual glow. With a sardonic laugh, I smiled, “Really? Is it written that clearly on my face?” “Mmhmm, you’d be a lot happier if you just let it all go,” there was that smile again. “You live here?” “I think so. For now. It’s kinda complicated.” Why I was I telling him this? “Well, you’ll figure it all out,” he replied with cool confidence as if he had already read the book of Tayler and been satisfied with the outcome. I raised my eyebrows, nodded my head, and displayed two crossed fingers. “We’ll see.” I smiled and turned around. I didn’t know what else to do. “Just keep it simple, little one.” From over my shoulder I could tell he was looking down as he said this. Little one. I bit my lip. Who is this guy? How does he know? Our ride had ended and we stepped back onto solid ground. “You have a good day now,” he nodded his head and took a sharp turn in the opposite direction. “Yeah, you too.” my voice trailed off in a languid tone. I wanted more but I could no longer see him. Jesus Christ Santa Claus, what the hell just happened? Sir, I’m not sure who you are or if you even actually exist, (maybe I was talking to myself on the escalator?) but thank you. This little one plans to keep it as simple as possible from here on out.

We were entering the library at the exact same pace.

I typically delight in the awkwardness this type of situation can create. Not willing to change my speed of swagger, I enjoy maintaining my stride to see how the stranger will react. Usually it is them who will tire of our new found synchronicity and jut out ahead or fall back in defeat.

Not this one. He stayed the course.

“Hi. How are you?”

I looked over at him, shocked, “Good. I’m good. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you.”

He was a large man. Mid-forties. Mounds of black curls fought to escape the claustrophobia of his baseball cap that, on account of all the hair, looked amusingly small atop his head. He wore layers; a white t-shirt, maroon button-down, red hooded sweatshirt, and denim jacket. None of them had been recently laundered.

His face was bright. The apples of his cheeks, preening themselves on their youthful brilliance, boasted a fine shade of flushed pink. He did not wear his smile; his smile wore him.

He wasn’t particularly attractive but I enjoyed looking at him the way moths enjoy gaping at porch lights. He radiated a certain ‘joie de vivre’ that was pleasantly incongruent with the dreary Seattle weather. His accent hailed from somewhere much warmer and uncomplicated. There is a good possibility this man was homeless.

He opened the door and motioned for me to enter first. We ascended the neon yellow escalator of the Seattle Public Library and I stood a few comfortable steps ahead of him.

“You shouldn’t think so much,” he remarked to my back.

I turned around to face him in disbelief. The glare of the acidic lemon walls gave him a certain spiritual glow.

With a sardonic laugh, I smiled, “Really? Is it written that clearly on my face?”

“Mmhmm, you’d be a lot happier if you just let it all go,” there was that smile again. “You live here?”

“I think so. For now. It’s kinda complicated.” Why I was I telling him this?

“Well, you’ll figure it all out,” he replied with cool confidence as if he had already read the book of Tayler and been satisfied with the outcome.

I raised my eyebrows, nodded my head, and displayed two crossed fingers.

“We’ll see.” I smiled and turned around. I didn’t know what else to do.

“Just keep it simple, little one.”

From over my shoulder I could tell he was looking down as he said this. Little one.

I bit my lip. Who is this guy? How does he know?

Our ride had ended and we stepped back onto solid ground.

“You have a good day now,” he nodded his head and took a sharp turn in the opposite direction.

“Yeah, you too.” my voice trailed off in a languid tone. I wanted more but I could no longer see him. Jesus Christ Santa Claus, what the hell just happened?

Sir, I’m not sure who you are or if you even actually exist, (maybe I was talking to myself on the escalator?) but thank you.

This little one plans to keep it as simple as possible from here on out.

  1. ontenterhooks posted this