Chasing Ellie

3. Telecommunication Hub

Darren Hannigan

"Library?" I ask James as we spill out into the hallway after our last class.

He tosses an odd look over his shoulder before he asks. "No why?" Usually it's him asking me for a ride, not the other way around.

"I don't know." I shrug. "You haven't gone in a few days."

We fall in step down the hallway. Noise growing in decibels around us. I looked it up once because I was curious where a crowded school hallway would fall on the decibel level. A school hallway wasn't exactly on the list but I figured it fell somewhere between a noisy restaurant and a busy hotel lobby. Any sounds below 75 units is deemed safe and likely to not cause hearing loss. Once you reach 85 units though, prolonged exposure may cause hearing loss. Which means if a school hallway falls closer to a busy hotel lobby, we're all exposed to hearing loss. I've contemplated buying ear plugs but I want to further my research before some teacher calls me out for ignoring them. I'm just trying to protect my hearing and I think they should support that.

But what I should ask James is if something happened between him and whoever he meets there. He's never said anything other than he's going to study but let's be honest. I'm a studious kid and I don't even go to the library. Why would you when you have google at your fingertips. An unlimited amount of resources at your convenience and you literally don't have to talk to anyone.

It's a dream come true for me.

"Oh, yeah, I just have to get home today." He says.

I was curious about libraries too. Their original intended use is slowly becoming outdated because of people like me. People who prefer to never step foot into a public place because they may have to speak. Okay, I'm not that bad but I also don't see the point in going to the library. Which spurred the question, are libraries dying off? They're not.

"See ya tomorrow Darren!" James tosses over his shoulder as he parts ways with me in the mass.

I wave slightly, more of like a finger wave though because I've never been one for big gestures that draw attention to me.

As I head for my locker though, I watch James meet up with his friends, tossing a casual arm around his sister. Ellie's not there yet, instead somewhere behind us. If I was brave, I'd linger maybe. Or when James and I leave our last class together maybe I'd tell him to wait so she could catch up. Sometimes I even go so far as to play out the conversation in my head. Only problem there is I'm too smooth and charming in my thoughts and I know that's now how reality would be.

It'd be just another book of fiction in the library, growing dusty on the shelves as libraries evolve with the times becoming telecommunication hubs rather than a home to tangible literary resources.

                           ————————

My hair is still damp from the shower I took after practice when I get home. I'm greeted by Peter's and my childhood dog, a basset hound that's ate too much food over the span of her life time. She waddles, ears dragging the floor and tail wagging with more ferocity than she puts into anything other than eating.

"Hey Tot."

We named her Tater Tot and there's never been a more fitting name.

I reach down to scratch her but just as my fingers graze her fur she plops flat and rolls over exposing her fat belly. So I reach farther, scratching my nails through her white fur as she basks in the attention.

"That dog is so fat." Peter announces as he enters the room.

He's in sweats, I'm not sure he's gotten dressed since he moved back. A sour attitude and overall annoyance with everything followed him back also.

"She's fine." I defend Tot.

She's old, she can be fat if she wants.

Peter's copper hair is a mess on his head, over grown and tangled because I'm nearly certain he's been in bed all day. That's all he's been doing lately.

He lets out a grunt, rolling his eyes dismissively before he finishes his trek to his destination. Apparently the kitchen.

"There's just more to love." I whisper to Tot, giving her belly one last pat before I follow Peter to the kitchen.

He's rummaging through the fridge or more so he's got the doors wide open staring at its contents. I set my things down, unpacking my lunch and pulling out my homework. I like to do my homework in the kitchen. When Peter's not trying to cool the house down with the fridge, it's quiet, a glass sliding door looking out to the deck and the backyard. The kitchen itself is warm with light wood cabinets and a tile counter with soft blue curtains. There's an old wood pedestal table where we eat our family meals and I always sit in the corner, looking out at the kitchen that holds countless memories.

This kitchen is where my cuts and scraps have been tended too, where I've brought home tests with a big red A on it so they could be proudly displayed on the fridge. Where Peter and I laid out our cases for why we were justified in fighting with each other, I normally lost. And where I had to endure talks about what it means to be a man. Thousands of family dinners and laughter and happy memories live within the walls of these kitchen. Most of them I'd never change.

But it's the same kitchen where Peter and I learned our dad was never coming home again.

And it's in this same kitchen that I learned Peter wasn't perfect.