The City Sleeps for Me

1 - Rebecca

Rebecca

I sit on my bed and run my hands over the book in front of me. I can hear rain dripping against the window, smell the sweet scent of wet concrete. I've always loved when it rains.

There's a faint knock on the door. "Rebecca?"

"Come in, Mom."

The door swings open. She sighs, and I hear her body rest against the doorframe. "What are you doing?"

Mom likes to ask obvious questions. She's anxious like that. I hate when she worries about me. "Reading."

"It's raining outside."

"I know."

"Maybe you should stay home from the library today."

"It's just a bit of rain. I'll be fine." I don't tell her that I'm desperate to get out of the house.

She pauses, and I hear the jingle of her necklace as she runs her fingers up and down the chain. "Maybe we should wait until it clears up..."

"Mom, I have to return this book. It's due tomorrow.

"Well... if you're sure. You have your phone?"

"Yes."

She walks towards me, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I can smell the rosy perfume she always dabs behind her ears. "Okay. Be careful. I love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

When she's gone, I tuck my book in my backpack and swing it over my shoulders, grab my cane off the wall. Mom is boiling pasta in the kitchen, the steam making the kitchen warm, and I slip through the front door without saying goodbye. 

I take the elevator down to the lobby, a generic jazz song crackling through the speakers. When the doors slide open, John is there to greet me.

"Hello, Ms. Bishop."

"Hello, John."

"Off to the library today?"

"You bet."

"'Atta girl."

I smile as he walks down the lobby beside me, his shoes clicking on the floor. John has been the doorman here my entire life. 

He holds open the door for me, and faint drops of rain splatter on my face. "Here's an umbrella, Ms. Bishop."

Something hard and smooth finds my hand, and I curl my fingers around it. "Thank you, John."

And then I'm on the sidewalk, breathing in the smoky smell of the city, the rain that pounds the plastic above my head. The water cools my skin. Cars honk on the street, and pedestrians chatter around me. It's a Thursday evening, and the city is always busy.

No one bumps into me. People tend to make a wide circle, giving me space. And anyways, I know where to go. Three blocks to the right, then make a left. 

I stop at the street crossing and bounce on my toes. My socks and the edges of my sneakers are beginning to dampen, and I lick my lips, enjoying the sweet, fresh rain. Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance, and I stuff my free hand in my rain jacket.

Someone stands beside me, talking fast on the phone. It's a man's voice.

"No, I'm on my way back to the office now... damnit, I can't believe we didn't close... no... no! Just - wait till I get there. Tell Jerry that he's not a senior partner."

I wonder if the man has an umbrella or if he's letting the rain soak into his suit. He sounds like the type of person to wear a suit, with a stressed, harsh voice. He snaps his cell phone shut and begins to walk across the street. I listen, and no cars are crossing - I follow him.

I tend to blend in to the surroundings of the city, which is a good thing. I don't talk too much. I'd much rather listen to other people.

I walk up the six steps (one, two, three, four, five, six) to the library's front doors, pull the umbrella shut and step inside. It's warm in here, a kind quietness that envelopes you like a sweater. 

Someone's breathing heavily to my right. I know it's Mrs. Summers, because she always breathes like that, and I faintly catch a whiff of chocolate covered almonds. She loves those.

"Hi, Rebecca!" says Mrs. Summers in her hushed librarian voice. "How are you today?"

"I'm good, how are you?"

"Just fabulous, just fabulous, thank you! Man, it's starting to storm outside!" 

"Sure is," I say. I swing my backpack around so I can pull out the book. "I'm here to return this."

"Oh, splendid! Did you like it?"

"It was really good." If I'm being honest, I didn't love it. It was about a fairy princess that was kidnapped, and then heroically rescued at the end. I prefer adventure books. But I've read pretty much every book I can in here. It's not like there's a great selection.

"Do you know what you're going to read next?"

"I think I'll check out the audiobooks."

"Great! Well, let me know if you need any help!"

"I will. Thank you."

She walks away, her footsteps muffled on the soft carpet. I know she's shorter than me because her voice comes from below, even though I'm not really that tall. Mrs. Summers, she's a sweet lady. 

I wander around the library, finding a bookshelf in the back and running my fingers over the spines. The library here is huge; it's wide and two stories tall, crammed with shelves and tables. On the second story there are some individual rooms, used to study in or whatever.

I don't think it's too busy in here right now. And I love the smell of the library - like old books and vanilla and cinnamon. I walk through aisles, breathing in the calmness and tranquility. A few people sniff around me like they have a cold, and people murmur quietly at the group study tables, but other than that it's pretty quiet. 

Another reason I love the library is because I'm allowed to stay as late as I want, until it closes, at least, and Mom won't worry. That woman worries about everything. But I've been coming to the library often enough that she lets go, a little.

I walk upstairs, run my hand along the smooth railing. It's even quieter upstairs. Up here, it's mainly things like textbooks, audiobooks, and comic books. Audiobooks are in the back right corner. I could ask a librarian for help, but when I don't feel like doing that, I just pull one from the shelves at random. I tell myself it's more exciting that way. 

I run my hands over the plastic covers of the audiobooks and sigh deeply. A faint sound suddenly makes my ears perk. It sounds like a note, then another. Music?

I walk alongside the shelves, straining my ears, until I can hear it well, now - it must be coming from one of the individual study rooms. I lean against the wall. 

It's a violin. 

The notes are soft, sad, and slow, like melting wax, wide and quiet arches of sound that you want to breathe in forever. 

I don't know how many other people are upstairs. I wonder if anyone else can hear. But I strangely feel like I'm the only person in the entire world.

The music starts to get faster, full of sad, sharp edges. It sounds like the instrument is crying. The notes tremble, hang in the air, get higher, hang in my throat. It might be the most beautiful, tragic noise I've ever heard in my life.

A note is pulled out, gets quiet, shaky, and then it's silent and the song is over. 

Am I still in the library?

I wish the person would play forever.