Librarian Girl
One fine day in spring I went along to the local Library to browse through the books. The old adage about librarians was not lost on me, but I wasn’t there for that. But, as I stood behind a bookshelf nosing through a book, I cannot for the life of me remember what about, I caught a glimpse of skirt swishing by: intrigued, I went to see what was going on. I saw this tall, slim woman from behind, reaching up and placing a book on a high shelf, quite an apt thing for someone of that height, only a bare inch or two shorter than myself in her low heels. The dress she wore was white with a bold blue floral pattern, hugging her upper body delicately while flaring gently away from her hips. I could see a cascade of dark-brown hair which reached just below her shoulders.
Then she turned only slightly and walked away from me toward the desk. I saw more of her form, slim, elegant and small-breasted. Her hair cowled her face so I couldn’t see it at all. I thought, and almost spoke “oh, lovely mystery woman, please wear glasses!” My mind drooled as I watched her legs swishing her long skirt around. Annoyingly, she insisted on keeping her back to me! I made my way closer and closer to the desk, trying to look interested in the subject matter that was before me in book form: romances. If ever there was something I wasn’t keen on, that was it. But, oh, come on, please turn around, lovely mystery woman!
Of course, she would not. She promptly went through the door behind the desk into the back office. I shrugged and went back to browsing. Soon after, I left the library and went to do something else like eat and forget about my mystery woman. I tried telling myself, “what happens if she doesn’t wear glasses? What then?” I tried and tried to forget her: but after a KFC and a look around a record shop, I braced myself for another try at the library. I walked in, trying to look as if I hadn’t been there already today. There was no sign of her as I paced up and down each aisle.
Eventually I got to the back of the library, and there she was! My heart leapt as I sauntered along the aisle, trying to see her without actually looking at her. She was crouching down at the bookshelf, taking books from a box and placing them on the shelves. I tried and failed miserably to appear as if I was only interested in the books, but thankfully she didn’t notice. Then, as I got within a few feet of her, the sunlight streaming through the windows went through her hair as she moved her head, and oh! There was a glint of bright metal somewhere in that mass of lovely brown hair!
My heart pounded… She HAD to wear glasses. Next question, minus or plus? And how much? I kept my fingers crossed behind me as I sidled up beside her: she seemed oblivious to my presence. Then she realised she was in my way, so she looked up at me and said, ‘sorry.’ I looked down at her face as it was angled up at me for a gentle moment of time. She was so pretty I felt faint. A pert chin, full mouth and small nose… And the eyes, pretty, gently blinking hazel behind thick lenses. Yes, she wore glasses, not hugely strong but something like minus 15 to 18, pushing in her delicate face each side, lenses that were near round and held there by the sort of metal frame I see in my dreams. I guessed her age of around 25. For one moment she gazed up at me, then she looked down and pushed the box along, then shuffled herself along. I could see her bra as she did this: she wasn’t large breasted, but that wasn’t an issue. That face, those eyes, the glasses, well that would be enough for any male OO. I stammered out an awkward, ‘that’s OK.' She emptied the box, stood up and walked off as if I wasn’t there, skirt swishing deliciously. I had to put my hand on the bookshelf to stop myself falling over!
I watched her vanish into the back office, and that was the last I saw of her that day. I came back to the Library the next day, only to find she wasn’t around, so I kept coming back as often as I could, which alas wasn’t as often as I wished. Then one day I was in a large department store, I was wandering past the section where they sold cameras and related equipment; whilst there I saw this lovely woman in black trousers and a figure-hugging pink top at the counter. I thought there was something familiar about her: she had the same hair as the woman I saw in the library, this time tied back. A heartbeat later one fact hit me like a pang of confusion: no glasses. I drifted to a halt, wondering my brain out. I asked myself “where are the glasses? Oh, shame, she must wear contacts! Or could she have a double, or twin?” There was no good answer. For a few moments I watched her buying a camera, and then walked away to dwell on my confusion.
I went back to the library the next day, and she was behind the desk in all her bespectacled glory, meeting my gaze with hers, smiling gently. She spoke to me as she checked my book out, and all I could do was smile lamely. I wish I could have withdrawn the book a million times so as to be served by her, even if I had no intention of ever reading it.
I waited patiently for the return date to come around, and took the book back. Alas, behind the counter there was no sign of that lovely lady… not yet, anyway. I waited and waited, went away, then came back and there she was! My heart heaved at the sight of her! I took the book to her, and she opened the front cover to check the date. I knew I was taking a chance, but such things are well worth a gamble: she found a small folded-up note inside giving my thoughts and my phone number. She saw it instantly, then glanced up at me with one of her gentle smiles. Unaccountably, perhaps, it seemed she had been waiting for this.
I had to drag myself away from the counter and go home, and wait for a response, if indeed there was one. When I got home there was a message from her on the answering machine. It said, ’thank you for your lovely message, I would be delighted to come to dinner with you… my name is Veronica, or Nikki if you like.' I immediately called her back and arranged a date, and then sat back with a mixture of relief and excitement.
As I drove to her address to pick her up some days later, I wondered which version of her I would see, the one with contacts, or the one with glasses? Both? Or even neither? I stopped by her house and knocked at her door. Quickly she opened it, and I saw that she wore glasses, and a different, shorter dress that clung tightly to her lithe body and stopped above her knees. Later, we sat in the restaurant, me gazing into those fathomlessly corrected eyes, simply enjoying the view… I asked her, ‘How long have you been a librarian? I haven’t seen you there before.’ She seemed to hesitate for a split second, then she replied, ‘oh, only a few weeks. I was a… journalist before this.’
After the main course, she caught me gazing into her eyes yet again, and said, slightly teasingly,
‘you like me in glasses?’
I nodded, and told her,
‘I like bespectacled women. They look so lovely.’
She looked surprised, but I thought that her surprise was a little forced, as if she was expecting it all along. I didn’t know quite what to make of her reaction, so I ignored it.
A few weeks went by, and we met and dined a few times; it was a lovely experience to meet this lovely woman and see her again and again. I didn’t go back to the library for a while, but when I did I soon discovered there was no sign of her. I went back several times during the week, and eventually asked about her. The librarian behind the counter told me that she had left. I was really surprised, so when next I met Veronica, I asked her what had happened. She seemed a little evasive as she said, ‘oh, I moved to another job. That’s all, really. That library was too far away.’ I thought that she was hiding something, but said nothing, I was glad enough to see her. But the next day I found the town map and after a bit of searching, I realised that there was no library closer to her house. Had she she lied? What was going on? I rang her to arrange another date, and she put me off till another night. It had happened before, I wasn’t worried by it then, but now… well, I was suspicious.
As the weeks went on, I saw less and less of Veronica. She seemed to enjoy my company and being taken out, but was reluctant to take it further. I respected her for that, anyway. But it seemed to me our little friendship, you could call it that, was slowly dying. Then two things happened to kill it completely: the first was when I was in town shopping, where I saw Veronica arm in arm with another man - and without glasses. That cut deep into me, but then the second thing was worse: I picked up a newspaper and saw a feature inside about Librarians and their stereotypes! As I read it, parts of it jumped out at me as exactly the experiences I’d had with Veronica! The truth dawned on me: she was a journalist, and had been using me just to get a story! I was so angry at first, then I rang her and left a message on her answerphone telling her I didn’t want to see her again. A few days later Veronica wrote to me, apologising for lying to me, and saying she did enjoy my company, even though now she admitted it was foolish of her and realised it couldn’t continue. I screwed the letter up and binned it, and forgot all about it as soon as I could.
About four years later I was living in another town. As for Veronica, I’d long forgotten about her. But fine one day all that changed: I was in a bookshop one afternoon, browsing for all I was worth, when the door opened and in walked this tall slim woman, wearing jeans and a jumper, and on her face large metal-framed near-round glasses, with lovely 3/4 inch-thick myodisc lenses. With a wrench of recognition, I realised it was Veronica. She didn’t appear to notice me, thankfully, because I needed time to get out of the way. The memories, good and bad, came flooding back as I studied her from a distance. Her fingers ran over the bookshelves, and she crouched down to look at the books. Someone behind me knocked a book over as I was hiding and peeking; she looked up, and then shrugged without really noticing I was there.
Thoughts raced though my head. She looked if anything skinnier than ever, and seemed to have a slightly drawn look to her pretty face, marked by disappointment and troubles. And, it seemed obvious that she couldn’t see very well. What on earth had happened to her? She opened a book and peered closely at it, straining to read it, then stood up to gain advantage of the better light. Mastering my memories of her, I went to say hello. She put the book uncertainly on the shelf before her and saw me coming. I was only a few feet away when she asked me, ’excuse me, where is the history section?' The place was pretty well sign posted, and the history section had a sign anyone with I suppose minus 6 or so could have seen and read without much trouble. Her face and voice addressed me as a stranger: she couldn’t tell who I was. My thoughts exploded into life again…
I pointed and replied, ‘over there.’ Veronica sauntered over to that section, and started to puzzle and peer closely at the books there. I watched her head for the cash desk, and pay for the book. She then left the shop. I shrugged and did a bit more browsing, then went to leave. As I got near the door I could see her through the shop window: what was she doing? Waiting for me? I opened the door and she came right up to me, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses, trying desperately to focus and hence be certain who she was speaking to. Uncertainly, she stammered nervously, ‘is… is that you? Is it really you?’ She seemed to restrain her hands, as if she wanted to feel me to be sure, but uncertain that she could do so to a stranger. I put her out of her misery of strained uncertainty. ‘yes, it’s me, Veronica.’ She sighed with relief, and then tensed with hope. She said, ‘Oh, I don’t believe this… I thought it was you: I recognised your voice.’
She touched my arm for her own reassurance that I was not a figment created from her obviously poor vision. She then asked me, ‘so, what are you doing?’ ‘Oh, I live down here now… I’ve been here about 2-3 years. Nice here, isn’t it?’ Veronica looked at me as if she wasn’t sure. She replied ‘I’ve been here a few months, but I don’t really know the place.’ She held out her arm to me, so I took it, and as we started walking, she asked, ‘shall we have coffee?’
I readily agreed to this, so we walked on. She didn’t seem to do much of the looking as we searched for a coffee shop, but thankfully it wasn’t far up the street before I found a decent place. I asked her, ‘What do you think?’ She squinted and replied ‘I don’t know, I’ve never been here before.’ To my knowledge, it didn’t seem likely that she’d come the other way into the bookshop. I was wondering how bad her eyesight was while she seemed to feel her way into a seat by the window and I ordered the coffee.
I returned to her, and sat down opposite. She smiled her lovely smile at me again, and I was again able to gaze into those lovely hazel eyes, blinking softly. She didn’t seem to squint right now. She commented languidly ‘I can see you better now. You haven’t changed much.’ ‘Neither have you.’ Her eyes rolled. She said, ‘you are a charmer, you know. Still always preferring the bespectacled ladies?’ Her voice seemed full of gaiety and faint hopes. I laughed and nodded. She said, ‘well, here’s one. And this time, no games. I’m really sorry about what happened before. Can you forgive me?’ I replied with a smile, ‘I’ll think about it.’
She then paused, and said to me with a pained look on her face ‘You know, I have changed. Look at me… these glasses are awful! Yet you are still….?’ More hope and pleasure filled her face. I asked, ‘so, Nikki, what’s been happening to you?’ She then launched into her tale.
‘As you know, I was working as a journalist, not a Librarian… I’ve regretted that many times in the last couple of years. Anyway, one day I woke up with my eyes itching and burning: it was horrible, I couldn’t wear my contacts. I went to the doctor and optician for help, they said I had a virus that was affecting my eyes. Over the course of a few months my vision became worse and worse, my RX went up from minus 16 to minus 25 very fast. I couldn’t wear contacts anymore, and the optician gave me myodisc lenses, but despite them I couldn’t see very well. My boyfriend dumped me as soon as he realised what I looked like, and that it would always be like this.’ Her face and eyes filled with ire as she spat that out. She continued, ‘well, I got on with life as best I could. I am a photo-journalist, that means I do photos as well as stories. But with my decaying eyesight, things got harder: my RX levelled out at about minus 28 about two and a half years ago, but my eyes were so damaged by the virus I couldn’t see clearly into the distance, so I am now only corrected minus 25 in the left eye and minus 23 in the right, to help me read close up. My visual acuity is now around 20/150 each eye at best, I think.’ She gave a glum sigh, ‘so, this stupid virus, it’s wrecked everything. I can’t see clearly, far from it, and it took so much out of me.’
Gently I asked her, ‘is that why you asked me for help finding the history section?’ She nodded, and gave a grim smile. ‘I’m glad you helped me. I wouldn’t have found it, nor realised it was you.’ There was a pregnant pause as I digested all of this. She said rather shakily, ‘if you want me to go away and leave you alone, that’s OK by me. I’ll understand.’ She smiled weakly, as if in hope. I replied, ‘do you have to go anywhere?’ ‘Not right now.’ ‘Then stay.’
She gave a lovely smile. Then her face turned inquisitive. She asked, ‘are you seeing someone?’ ‘Are you?’ ‘Looking like this? I hardly think so!’ ‘You look wonderful!’ Her face softened, and some of the cares seemed to ease. She told me ‘I havent heard that for ages! And… it was you who said that about me, wearing my glasses. Oh, why did I have to lie to you? I’m so sorry.’ ‘Don’t worry, Nikki. You’re forgiven.’
She reached out to me, groping slightly in her visual uncertainty, and touched the back of my hand gently. Softly she said, ’thank you. Now, are you going to tell me if you’re seeing someone?’ I shook my head. She nodded, and then said, ‘see me then. Although in my case, perhaps “see” isn’t the right word.’ She laughed grimly.
I pointed to the “No Smoking” sign on the next table and asked, ‘can you read that from here?’ She turned her head and screwed up her eyes. She asked, ‘See what?’ ’that “No Smoking” sign.' ‘No.’ She turned her head to face me again, and asked with slight irritation, ‘do you usually give your potential girlfriends an eye test before asking them out?’ ‘No, not usually.’ ‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me out?’ ‘OK. Come to dinner tonight, Veronica.’ She gave a lovely smile and said, ‘of course I will.’
I took her home, left her there, and then went back later to pick her up: she was wearing this slinky black dress that seemed to go nowhere near her knees… And of course, the thick glasses… If that wasn’t enough, she hugged up close to me, obviously needing guidance. Oh dear, but what a lovely experience that was.
It turned out Veronica was still an active journalist: she even tried taking photos. I started helping her with that, because some of time she didn’t get what she wanted, or it came out fuzzy because she had to guess the focus. It was so delightful watching her bending over her camera tripod, pressing her plano-fronted right lens against the eyepiece for all she was worth, and then hearing her sigh in exasperation as she couldn’t see what she was trying to take a picture of. But you can guess what the best bit of our relationship was!