The Darkness Of Transparency

Chapter 1

Chapter one

“I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book! -- When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”

― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

That is- how I believe I felt (the feeling of enjoyment)- when I first saw my room. Books of all shapes and sizes of all colors and ages were stacked upon books, which in turn were stacked upon books.

The room was huge; I’m guessing roughly about eighteen by twenty, twenty-two feet. Two of the walls, one shorter and one longer, were completely covered by book shelves, except for the break in shelves where there was a door that led to the hall. The other longer wall had floor to ceiling windows- as well as a door that led out to the veranda. The windows on the wall and the one on the door had automatic shades to be turned on or off at the flick of a switch. The last smaller wall had doors that led to a closet, bathroom, and the official house library.

My room- I believe- was grand but perhaps too much. Not only did it have books but it also had a small lounge and a kitchenette. The books would’ve been enough for me.

So now I lay in bed watching the clock tick by, waiting for eight-thirty. Lily wants me to sleep in and ‘loosen up a bit’, but when I was… there…. I had to get up at six every morning.

I tried to listened to her, getting rid everything that reminded me of that part of my life was just one more step moving forwards.

The clock read three till eight and I rolled out of bed, at least it was a start. I tried wasting time getting dressed and brushing my teeth, but in the end I got downstairs about five minutes later.

“Good morning,  no muirnín,” sang our housekeeper, Becky.

“Is that Gaelic?” I asked.

“My dear how did you know?” She smiled.

“Well I know people from Scotland- which-I’m-guessing-you’re-from-Scotland-because-of-your-accent,” I exhaled quickly-nervous all of a sudden, “either speak English or Scottish Gaelic or even sometimes Irish, so…” I finished awkwardly, afraid I was wrong.

“Oh, I believe we’ll be good friends, my darling.” Becky stooped over and pulled me into a hug, taking me off guard I stumbled into her arms. She smelled of lemons and hydrangeas.

I extracted myself out of her arms carefully. “Can I help you make breakfast?”

“You don’t have to do that-“ I cut her off.

“But I want to!” I interjected. “Why don’t you let me fix some tea and you can sit down.”

“But-“ Becky tried to object.

“No no, just have a seat. You already do so much for everyone let me cook.” I led her to one of the bar stools that stood over the counter by the stove. “Now,” I paused, “do you know what Lily and Brian’s favorite breakfast is? Your own?”

“I’ve already eaten,  no muirnín, but thank you for the thought. Lily likes an egg white southwestern omelet and Brian likes pancakes. Are you sure you don’t want any help?” She asked, her face soft and caring.

“No thank you I use to do this at- th- no, no thank you.” I muttered, flushed, trying not to remember the past, trying to think of the present, and trying to think of Lily and the light-heartedness she brings.

Becky’s face was sympathetic as she watched me fill the tea kettle. I placed it on the stove and set the oven preheating.

“Will you tell me a story?” I said softly. “A fairytale, that’s what Lily calls them.”