New readers start here: Let it Rock Chapters 1 & 2 or check out the music here: Spotify Playlist
LYNN
I checked my watch, which thankfully glowed in the dark. It had been about twenty minutes that I'd been squeezed under this desk in the listening library waiting for the guard to come around again. The buttons on my jeans were poking into my belly and since I'd been leaning on one arm to stay balanced, my shoulder was starting to cramp.
Ugh. Maybe I shouldn't have come alone. Maybe I should have pushed Angie harder to come with me, and to skip her study group. It was cramped and dusty under here, and the moldy carpet smelled funny. I could have used the company, or at least, someone to complain with.
Finally, I was relieved to hear a tiny sound, a raspy shuffling, like someone was dragging feet across the floor. Someone was walking in the hallway outside the listening room. A bit of light glowed in the corner of my view. They had a flashlight.
I focused on the light, and watched it move slowly across the wall behind my hiding space. It floated down and flickered as it passed me, then everything went dark again.
Did the guard leave? I didn't hear the steps moving away. Maybe because the floor is carpeted in the other direction? I can't remember what it looked like when I came in.
I counted to five, and waited. Nothing. I pressed my lips in a thin line and decided to wait longer. I had to be sure I was alone. So I counted to ten, then twenty, then a minute, looking at the tiny numbers on my watch. There was still no change to the view, so I loosened up my arms, unfolded my body, and stood up to look around.
A person was standing there, staring right at me. My heart leaped into my throat as I leaned toward the door to run out. The other person moved at the exact same time, and I realized at that moment it was only my reflection.
Stupid. I should have remembered that a window was right there - it acted like a mirror. I let my breath come out in a long whoosh - then reexamined my surroundings in detail.
The door I had entered from was closed, but the large window with my reflection separated the listening room from the main offices. I waved at myself, grinning. The secretary had left a lamp on at her desk, which gave enough light to see the outline of the six listening desk stations in this room (including the one I had been under), each with a set of headphones. The tape and record players, along with the music library itself, were all under lock and key in the room at the back. I had seen staff pulling records out of there only a week ago when I was here doing homework. Although listening to "Hot for Teacher" ten times over really didn't seem like work. It was definitely more fun than Bio lab.
The storage room door was an ominous rectangle that seemed to call to me like a mouth. My feet slid on the carpet as I moved toward the doorway. That guard could be back any minute. Hurry up. Go slow. Hurry up. Go slow. My steps moved with my heartbeat. When I finally reached the door I was surprised to find that it opened easily. I still moved it slowly - not so slow as in that old Poe story where it takes him an hour to open a door - but carefully, to make no noise. I finished the movement and glanced back at the room's entrance behind me.
Good, the guard wasn't back yet.
I bent down and took out my mini flashlight, which was a birthday present from Jim, and flicked it on. The door was wood, and ordinary. But there was something odd. I fingered the locking mechanism and shone my pencil light closer. It was busted, the metal was bent. That's why the door was unlocked. It was scratched, too. I shone the light higher, up on the frame. The wood was actually splintered and some small pieces were missing. I knelt down and examined the carpet more closely, and felt with my fingers the underside of the door. Then I swept the light into the corner of the room, searching by the hinges. The pieces weren't there, and the carpet was oddly clean. Of course, someone must have been here already. Maybe it was the campus cops.
I brushed my hands on my jeans, stood up, and opened the storeroom door wide enough to finally slip inside.
I closed the door behind me and switched on the light.
It was about the size of my bedroom back home. Not much more than a closet, really, but the designers had built the walls with special wooden shelves. Each shelf had different size dividers built-in, clearly meant to hold either records, tapes or 8-tracks. There were even some special shelves, that looked like they were meant to hold Compact Discs. Every single shelf was empty.
So, that's it. There wasn't any 'technical' incident, no minor problem. The tapes, records and CDs weren't just lost. They were gone. Stolen, from the look of this doorway. Someone clearly broke in. But by who? And why?
I quickly checked my watch again. I had only another few minutes or I would miss the last bus. Since I got what I came here for, I turned off the light, made my way out using the same slow-but-quick method. Once I was completely out of the Sociology building I let myself relax and resume my usual pace.
Brr. I'm cold again. I zipped up my sweater and put my hands in my pockets, and found a pencil. The paved pathway down the hill that led to the bus stop was lit, but steep, making me watch my footing carefully. I mindlessly twirled the pencil as I walked.
What a wacky day this has been. I can't wait to tell Angie about all of this. But why? Why would someone steal some old records? Who would want to steal from a college music library? Was it so valuable? Were they going to sell it? I remember watching the city bums selling records and books on the streets back home for a dollar each. How valuable could the collection be, a bunch of used records and tapes? The bus was coming, so I hurried to reach the shelter.
----
It was a long bus ride back to the apartment, so I pulled out my walkman and pressed play. It was right at the beginning of A Hard Day's Night, a tape I had borrowed from Jim a few years ago and never returned.
"It's been a hard day's night, and I been working like a dog
It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a log
But when I get home to you I'll find the things that you do
Will make me feel alright"
The suburban neighborhood rolled by the large pane windows. Most people around here were still awake, with lights still on in dining rooms and kitchens, or televisions that shone as bright shapes in the darkness.
I wonder if Jim will be home, watching TV. Or studying. Not that he's ever around. Why isn't he ever around? He was supposed to be looking out for me, doing things like showing me around campus and making sure I brushed my teeth. All that good big brother stuff he used to do for me, back home. Instead he...well I really wish I knew what he's been up to. Maybe grad students had to study all the time, and he was in the library. Or maybe he's at a party.
I remember that one night in high school, when I had gotten myself stuck at Larry's house in Queens, after that crazy party. It was the middle of the night, and I needed to get out of there, fast. He was the one to come and got me. He never asked me what happened, or why. He was the one to stay up with me, and make sure I got to sleep. He kept telling me that everything would be okay. I know he never told Mom about that night. He was really the best big brother ever.
Or, he used to be. I haven't seen that side of him since I've been here. The longest conversation we'd had was when he picked me up at the Greyhound bus stop, at the start of term. I remember we'd talked about the bus ride, and joked about the bad terminal food. I even went to bed early that night, thinking I would see him at breakfast the next day.
He wasn't there that morning, though, just a note about where to catch the bus to school. Has he really been gone every day before I wake up? I'd seen him in the evenings sometimes, making dinner or watching TV. Not this week though. I haven't seen him in days. If he didn't eat up the house-food or sleep in his bed, I wouldn't even know he was there.
Has he actually stopped loving us? No, that's not possible. He'd never forget about me, or Mom, about the city. He's just been busy, that's all.
I do wonder what he's up to.
I felt my nails cutting into my palm, and realized my hand was clenched into a fist around the pencil. So I forced it open and closed my eyes, trying to relax. The opening notes of "I'm Happy Just to Dance with You" played in my ears, so I tried to listen and let my mind drift.
This morning I had no mysteries to solve. Now I have two. My friends back home would be so proud of me for keeping busy.