The sky in the library

When we start telling a story, the right thing would be to give a brief introduction, right? But since I’m tremendously late – you’ll notice this happens more often than it should – we’ll have to jump straight into the scolding my boss is giving me.

“Katlyn, you’re late again. The students were already lining up when I got here.”

“Ms. Caroline, I’m so sorry. My cat was playing with the library key and pushed it under the couch. It took me almost an hour to find it!” I say, without the slightest bit of shame.

“I see that each day you come up with more creative excuses,” she says, laughing. “You’re lucky that despite the delays, I can’t think of anyone better to take your place.”

I don’t get it. Was that supposed to be a compliment? Honestly, I don’t think so... anyway.

“I understand. Either way, sorry for being late. I’ll stay later today to make up for the hours, so you can leave earlier without worrying.”

“Since it’s Friday, I’ll leave at 5 p.m. Considering you owe us several hours, and since you don’t exactly have an active social life, would you mind closing the library?!”

“Of course, Ms. Caroline! You can count on me.”

Ugh, how annoying. Despite Ms. Caroline being completely passive-aggressive, I actually like her a lot. As always, I only seem to “get along” with people much older or much younger than me. When I first got here to Oxford, I didn’t know anyone, and she was the only one who welcomed me.

Well... now that I’ve finally made it to work, I’ve got plenty of time to introduce myself to you. My name is Katlyn, I’m 26 years old, and I’m currently doing my master’s in Philosophy here at the University of Oxford, in the United Kingdom. The only problem is: I’m not British. Far from it, actually – I’m Brazilian. I was born in a tiny town in the countryside of Paraná, called Cerro Azul. When I turned 17, I moved to the state capital (Curitiba – PR) to study Library Science. I’m completely in love with books. I usually tell myself (since I’m not really into socializing) that books are the only things capable of bringing me extraordinary feelings – though sadly, they’re only fantasies.

You must be thinking, “Poor girl.” It’s not that bad – in college I managed to make a few minimal friendships. Oh, right, the big question: how did I end up in the UK?! Since I was little, I saw lots of movies and books portraying Oxford’s library as a magical, incredible place. In my final year of college, I found a selection process encouraging foreigners to come do their master’s at the University – and here I am. Sometimes, I stop and reflect, wondering whether I was running away from something or just trying to find myself... I still don’t have that answer. And oh yes, I do speak English. With a Brazilian accent, of course.

“Good afternoon! Do you know if we have the bookLehninger Principles of Biochemistry?” said a girl who’s already practically a VIP student here at the library.

“Hi, good afternoon. I’ll check the system and get back to you.”

Yeah, maybe I’ll leave this conversation with you for another time. After all, I’m on work hours (not that it stops me from dissociating and watching TikTok videos, but never mind).

“I just checked – we have a copy available for loan on the 2nd floor, section B, shelf 4,” I inform her.

“Thank you so much!” she says and goes off to find her book.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I had chosen another career. If I had studied somewhere else. If I had tried harder to have a more active social life. If I had been born with a different personality. My life here in the UK isn’t that different from the one I had in Brazil. I have a few classmates in my master’s program, but I don’t know if I can call them friends. I’ve always been this more reserved person, never felt much thrill in living. And no, I don’t have depression. I just think I’ve never found anything, apart from books, that could make me feel that fascination with life. When I moved, I had all sorts of ideas – reinvent myself, change my style, create a new personality... but of course I couldn’t pull it off. Honestly, I don’t think I even tried. I like spending the whole day at the library, watching people.

“Katlyn, I’m heading out. Are you sure you can handle things alone until 8 p.m.?”

“Yes, Ms. Caroline. Don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll ask someone from another department for help.”

“Alright. Take care on your way home, have a nice weekend.”

“Safe travels!” I say goodbye to Ms. Caroline and sit at my desk. And just like that, I begin the next three hours of doing NOTHING, in a huge library on a Friday evening.

During the week, the library is always crowded. Honestly, I prefer it that way. As I said, I love watching people. I love trying to understand – or even invent in my head – what they’re reading, what they’re thinking, and what they’re studying. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a telepath. As you can see, that didn’t quite work out. Some students and library visitors have probably never even noticed me, but I follow them religiously. My favorite part to observe is when they finish what they were doing – their expressions of relief and often joy bring me a strange comfort. Some leave before afternoon coffee time, others only go when I kick them out. So many people, so many personalities, so many different lives... I feel privileged to be able to observe them. I’m very grateful to Ms. Caroline for offering me this teaching internship.

That’s right – besides managing the library’s help desk, once a week I’m in charge of reading historical tales to elementary school classes and to a retirement home. And believe it or not, I find it amazing! It’s one of the few moments when I feel comfortable, as if life is trying to show me something. From the moment I start reading until I finish, they treat me like a superhero. A superhero of stories, maybe?! Anyway.

Time flew by while I was on my phone watching endless cat videos doing unimaginable things. It’s now 7:50 p.m., time to play “book cop” and do my rounds before closing. The round means walking through all the shelves in my section (on the library’s 1st floor), checking the bathrooms, individual study rooms, and reading tables. Once I finish, I can confirm that no one else has a social life as boring as mine to be stuck in the library at 8 p.m. on a Friday. Ugh. I feel something running down my face... what is this? A tear? Sweat? No idea. And honestly? I don’t want to know. I just want to get home and pick a new book to read.

As I leave and lock up the library, I hear a huge noise. Like someone tripped and knocked over all the trash cans. I’m happy thinking it might be a skunk – after all, I love animals!! So I decide to investigate. I promptly head toward the noise (this is exactly how people die in horror movies) coming from the alley behind the library’s side corridor. At the entrance, I see it’s a narrow, damp alley, practically all dark. On top of that, it’s freezing outside – it’s winter, and almost every street is covered in snow. As I step in and strain my eyes to see better, I realize, unfortunately, it’s not a skunk.

“Hi...? Are you okay? Do you need help?” I ask the man rummaging through boxes and trash.

“You think if I were okay, I’d be digging through garbage?!”

“Maybe. Some people might see it as a hobby.”

“Do I look like a homeless man to you, for this to be my hobby?”

“No. You look more like someone rude and unbearable.”

“At least I’m not as nosy as you,” he growls at me.

“Okay... I hope you find what you’re looking for,” I say, turning back toward the corridor.

“Who said I’m looking for something?” says the extremely charming non-homeless man.

I just ignore him and keep walking back. The things I run into in this city... that’s why most of the time I avoid wasting my broken English.

“Wait!” the non-homeless man says. “I’m sorry, I’m frustrated and shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

I stop, staring at him, wondering what goes on in this creature’s head. I turn and start walking again.

“Ugh. I’ve been searching for something very important to me for hours, and only when you showed up I realized it was already dark,” he says, his voice trembling. “That’s when it hit me that I probably won’t find it. My bad.”

“And what’s this oh-so-precious thing?” I ask, since I clearly have nothing better to do on a Friday night.

“A guitar pick. My aunt gave it to me when I was a kid,” he says, his voice nostalgic.

Well, another very important fact about me is that I have zero sense. You might have noticed that by now, considering I’m standing in a dark alley, in the middle of winter, at 8 p.m., talking to a complete stranger. Instead of walking away, I decide to stay and help the non-homeless man find his precious belonging. Truth is, I can’t even see his face properly – the alley has only one streetlight, which apparently prefers being off rather than on. If I die, please don’t tell my mom how stupid I was. Thanks.

“Okay, do you have a picture of the pick? I’ll help you look,” I say, with zero hope of finding anything in this darkness.

“Seriously? You don’t have anything better to do on a Friday night?” He looks shocked.

“Says the guy digging through trash,” I reply without thinking twice.

Something strange happens – instead of another rude comeback like before, I hear him laugh. And when I noticed, I was smiling too. Thankfully, it’s dark. He steps closer and shows me a photo of the pick on his phone – it’s white with some red details. It’s OBVIOUS we’re not going to find something that small and WHITE in this badly lit, snow-filled alley. But since I’ve got nothing better to do, I stick to my word and help.

“You’re sure you dropped it here?” I ask.

“Actually, someone I know threw it here,” he says, looking a little embarrassed.

“Wow, you must be very well liked.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he says, smiling again.

The worst part? I realize I’m smiling too. What am I doing? My God.

“I’ll turn on my phone flashlight so you can see something. Just don’t count on me to stick my hand in the trash.”

“What a shame. Looks like I’m the only one with this hobby,” he says, rolling his eyes.

We searched for about 30 minutes, obviously with no success. He then turns to me and says:

“Yeah, I’ll have to let it go. Thanks for the help, but it’s getting too dark and cold. It could be dangerous for you to walk home, and I have an appointment at 9.” His voice is a mix of frustration and impatience.

“Wow, I didn’t even notice the time pass. Alright then, I’m sorry about your pick,” I say.

“Thanks. What’s your name?” he asks.

“It’s Katlyn. And yours?”

“Elijah. Katlyn, next time I suggest you don’t help a strange man digging through trash in a dark alley.”

“Yeah, I know. Not my brightest move, huh?” I say, laughing without realizing it. I hear his laugh again.

We walk together back toward the side corridor, leaving the alley behind. Once we reach a brighter spot, I finally see his face. A tall man, dark hair, blue eyes. A blue that reminded me of the sea. A stormy sea. Not even in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined a man as handsome as the one standing in front of me at that moment. I was feeling something, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

“Do you live far from here? If it’s nearby, I can walk you home,” he offers.

“Oh sure, what a great idea – show a stranger where I live.”

He laughs. “Yeah, fair enough. But I think I’m less dangerous than some of the other people out there.”

“Maybe. Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Elijah. I hope you find your pick someday. See you around,” I say, already turning to leave. After all, I’ve never been good at keeping a conversation for more than 5 minutes.

“Wait... do you have plans tonight? I’m a guitarist in a rock band. Tonight at 9 we’re playing at a pub nearby. If you’d like to come, you’re invited,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of hope.

“Oh, so that’s why the pick was so important to you? You were going to play with it?” I ask.

“Yes. But maybe I’ve found something that could replace it,” he says, looking straight into my eyes. Creepy – I even felt a shiver down my spine.

What does that even mean? Did he find a rock or something in the trash? People say the weirdest things. I just don’t get it.

“I see, that’s good. Unfortunately, I already have plans tonight,” which is a total lie. We all know I’ll go straight home, stay with my cat, and read a book until I fall asleep. “But thanks for the invite. See you around.” I turn before he can even reply and head on my way home.

“Alright. Take care. See you,” I hear him say, his tone unreadable.

My God, what was that? If my mom finds out, she’ll come all the way from Cerro Azul to the UK just to kill me with her bare hands. As I walk, a thought hits me: “Is he still standing there, watching me?!” Yeah right, once again I’m fantasizing while wide awake. Well... it doesn’t hurt to check, does it? I turn around. He’s not there anymore. My God, what a joke. Maybe it’s for the best.

My place is about a 5-minute walk from the library. I live in the university’s student housing. Luckily, I have a single room. As soon as I get home, I take a shower and decide to start a horror book. Yes, horror. Maybe it suits my life better than the romances I usually read. Oh, and another important thing about me – I’m extremely dramatic. But I think by now you’ve already figured that out.