NOTE: ERRORS ARE INTENTIONAL.
I wrote this a while ago and meant to post it but never did. So here we are.
Together Marco and I close the doors to the library. It’s the weekend. We’re excited. Tonight will be another dreamlike night. This is because a library is an amazingly fantastical place to do acid. Marco skips down the stairs of the second level in his baggie cargo pants and leaps down the last three. We toast to life and down the bitter sugar cubes with a few swigs of soda. We wait.
I don’t know how long it takes. By the time I find a clock in the enormous building the hands are swirling madly, far too wild to read. It has begun.
Skipping through the halls the great corridors of books and shelves upon shelves of wonderful stories I laugh as they raech out to touch me with their soft papery hands. The bookcases sigh when they see that I am far too fast. Giggling hysterically, looking back behind me as I run, I see the shelves closing together and trying to catch the tail end of my lovely billowing peasant skirt. I wish my ehad could turn around backwards so I could watch it while I run.
Marco! MARCO! MaRcO!!! Where are you?
I’m here. Just here. I’m absorbing the beautiful.
And I plummet up the stairs clutching the banister tight so I don’t fall because the mountainside is treacherous but oh so much fun to climb. Marco! There he is with a big chiuldren’s atlas spread in front of him with all the funny pictures. I plop down, upside down book in front of me. Colors so ahhmazing. Green crabs on the coast and they’re pinching clawing trying to get off the page but Marco lets out a donkey bray of a laugh and flips the page to a big map of Europe.
Hey! Here? I ask. I don’t know where we are.
Marco shakes his head no and points to the middle of the page. The middle of the page is sooooo funny. Becausee its got a picture of fishing boats! Fishing boats!!! I laugh until my sides ache and Marco puts his hand on my stomach to feel me laughing so I laugh harder because it tickles. The library ceiling is awful far away like a mile up in the sky and crazy crazy crazy white with ice bergs forming in the tiles and loads of little hills. I’m afraid the penguins might fall down on me, so I close my eyes like a good firl. Behind the lids are the most intoxicating pattersn of lilies amnd golfdish and all the coors of the rainbow some I don’t even know.
Grace. Amazing Grace.
Do you want to see the chess board? You’ll laugh lots… again …some more.
So I sit up and M arco takes my hand. He kisses it. His lips feel like flower petals so soft I sigh. He pulls me over to the checker board in the corner or maybe its chess and poibts enthusiastically.
Of course I see. The checkers look like little fishies and theyre swimming in a checkered flag black and white pool of ocean. Ther is cold from somewhere. I hug myself anf look at the window. The walls are breathing.
Marco shut the window please.
Marco laughs stupidly at the hill outside with the singing flowers and shuts the window so it’s not cold. It feels good now. Marco trips to a shelf and pulls out a books called White Mountains. He reads the letters about aliens. It’s a little scary. And then whoa explosions like dynamite in his words. It’s terrifying
I’m stopping. Stopping. It’s aok.
Marco puts the book back on the shelf and pats my head. Patting until he folds down beside me and pulls me onto his lap.
It’s ok. All okay. No more.
I shiver and curl up close, wiping sudden tears from my face with the folds of my skirt. E verything is so vivid and scsary. It’s all so real.
Look look at this Marco says. He pulls another book off the shelf with calm blue pictures. He says it’s the ocean. Poseidon rules the ocean. They have a castle down there at the bottom of the see. They can look up and watch the boats Marco says. When I look up I can watch the boats too. My dear sweet friend kisses my head and let’s me up to continue exploring our treasure troce of books. I scan the shelves with my eyes and skim the titles with my hands so that they jump off the books like magic.
Inside the first book I pick up I find a picture of a baby, tucked in a cradle. The pictures are sketchy and odd loolking that make you wonder who would put such bad il.lustrations in a book. But still I go spiraling back trhough echoes of memories that tsate so sweet I remember candy pbracelets and maple syrup and summer su,mmer sundshine.
In the warm morning air warning of a hot day there’s a baby in a crib making soft cries. I pick her up and hold her to my chest so she is quiet. Her name is Hope. Momma never got a chance to have Faith. But she had Grace and Hope. That was enough.
My long tree branch arms put the book back on the shelf and I stand still against the wood, waiting ti sprut leaves.
What are you doing? Marco asks.
“Shhh. I’m a tree.
Then I wi.lll be lightning!
And he strikes me down in a tackle. Two trees fall down in the librartuy soft and quiet. They don’t make sounbds because they aren’t supposed to be there. And no one knows they are. Yellows rayts of fading sunb slant through the window on us. Curled up. Safge between the canyons of paper and binding. I watch a butterfly flit across the glass. So easy. So easy to fly.
Can you feel it?
I am wide wakwe.
Feel the rain.
I don;/t know.And then I hear a quiet pitter pattering that makes me think I’m going craxzy before I realize what it is. Rain. How doe sit rain? The Sky is still just full of sunshine and butterflies.
Yes Marco. I feel the rain. Is a y it because I can. The rain is there dancing on my skin inside the building under the roof. A constant cool sensation. Droplets dropping sliding across our flesh.
Do you like the rain Grace? Asks Marco.
No. I love the rain.