The Public Library

I really was trying my hardest not to type in WordPress in my URL. I  need to do homework. Especially the 4 essays that are on my prep list that my professor wanted to give us the 2nd week of classes. I need to knuckle down, man. I was trying so hard to not go on WordPress, but being here in the public library, there are just so many things to blog about. Don’t get me wrong, public libraries are awesome when home is too loud to study or when the patio is just too damp to concentrate. In that case, the public library is the best friend.

So I sit here. Trying my best to do my research paper on C. Chavez and the Grape Boycott when this extremely handsome, well suited, nicely shaven, deliciously smelling business man props himself right next to me. Right next to this exact computer. Briefcase and all, he sits and with a beautiful grin on his face he turns his head and grins. AT ME. Agh. 

I cannot help myself but flush and smile this corny little girl smile, like I just heard daddy say he’s taking me to the carnival. I’m helpless. Suddenly I find myself typing at a slower pace than my normal 79 wpm. 

“Can I borrow your pen?” (!!!! :O !!!!) Here I am smiling like a total idiot as I stare at my pen not even believing he’s talking to me. “It writes in purple, ” I say embarrassed. Dammit Danna, you need to start carrying the professional colored pens, my conscience growls“I think my boss will be amused.” I hand it to him and in a not so creepy way, I stare at him as he sways the pen left to right as he writes. He hands me my pen while barely brushing his arm against mine and says, “Thanks, very smooth,” 

Is he talking about my pen or my skin? Definitely not your skin, you weirdo. She says again.

I freeze and stare at my screen and from the corner of my face I see his grin. He licks his lips and releases a chuckle. Instinctively, I look at him; regretting it the minute I do. 

“You’re a fast typer.” 

“‘Typer’ isn’t a word. Thanks…,” Dammit. Why did I just correct this handsome, important looking man? Do I have to ruin everything? He turns as he arches his thick dark eyebrows at me and says, “You see this suit? When a professor says a word, don’t correct him. Especially when its a well-given compliment to a very pretty girl.”

OMG. Someone wake me up! …wait, he’s a professor? WHAT? he’s so young looking and so… so hot. 

I smile and I keep typing slower than ever. He notices, “Please, don’t slow down. You’re pretty fast. I like.” Woah.

People stare and I flush. I can feel my olive skin tone turn red. He winks. 

Oh my. 

I try to ignore him as I dig in my back pack in hopes of escaping from this man who is absorbing my concentration. “Did you find it?” LOL I laugh out of nervousness and I scream to my conscience, KILL ME. “What? Huh? Find what?” I say blankly and not to mention, stupidly. “What ever it is that your desperately in search for, ” he smiles that awfully, incredible grin.

“Where do you teach at?” I have no idea where that came from, but I needed to get him off my back. “I’m an online professor.”

“You have to dress that way to teach kids online?

“No, I have to dress this way if I want to see a very pretty girl like you.”

I die. Right there. I stare at him as he tries to find the words that are trying to escape from my lips. I just smile. And again, I flush. All awkwardly and such. You’re such a dork. “T-th-thank you. i studder. 

“What are you studying?”

“English. Grape Boycott.”

“Oh, very well then. History and English, my favorite.”

“Mhm,” is the only thing that I could muster out. 

“How long until you leave?”

Am I annoying him? “Soon. As soon as I get more info on Cesar Chavez.”

“Oh,” he raises his eye brows again, killing me once more.

I try to block him out as he pulls out his iphone. I continue to type and he interrupts me by clearing his throat.

Staring at him, I grab my water bottle and wait for whatever he about to say with that profound look on his face. 

“I hear the coffee shop across the street has great coffee. Care to join, miss.”

“Please don’t do that. I’m Danna.”

“Danna. Fits you. Would you care to grab coffee? I can help you gather some info on Mr. Chavez’s impacting movement.”

I look at him. Part of me is so ecstatic and fluttery, and my conscience part is annoyed, trying to just get work done. I grab my pens and notebooks and put them in my bag. 

“I hear the Espresso is great,” I say, even surprising myself. 

“Espresso it is.”

We both get up and I see the faces of the other people. Oh man.

“Wait, who are you? I didn’t even bother asking. I’m so sorry!” I say so embarrassed. 

“it’s the suit, I’m telling you. It’s Luc.”

Luc. Luc the most handsome, well-suited, delicious smelling business man I have ever met in the public library. I follow him out the door to our cars. And I definitely cherish the moment. He holds open the door for me along with the crowd coming in and out. I watch as he moves so delicately yet so impacting. Greeting the strangers that look at him looking at me. We walk in noisy silence and I can’t help but stare at his dark complexion as it glistens with the sun rays. 

“Danna… Danna…” I open my eyes and I see Meredith, the cute little librarian softly touching my shoulder, begging me to wake. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I guess the Grape Boycott wore me out,” I say, turning my head towards the computers in hopes of finding Luc.

“Are you almost finished? You’ve been here since this morning non-stop studying, you need to rest. You work in 2 hours.” I glance at my phone. 14:47. 

“I better go. It’s a good 35 minute drive. Thank you,” I say, still confused.

“Have a great day Danna, get some coffee or something. Take care.” I frown as I wave, “See you tomorrow, Ms. Mer.

Disappointingly I pack up my things and start for the exit.

An espresso sure sounds yummy.





I Can’t Think of a Proper Title

10 burpees, 40 squats, 50 lunges.

It’s 2:11 a.m. where I’m located, and I can’t seem to fall asleep, although my eyes are refusing to open wider.

I’ve cleaned the family room, cleared the book case, cleansed my face, and brushed my teeth…TWICE. My body is tired and so is my mind; its so tired that it can’t rest. Ever had that? Ever been so tired that you just can’t fall asleep? Geeze, now that I think about it: I have that a lot. I just lay here thinking of what I should have said to the Sprint sales rep that gave me “the look”. I lay here pondering Mother’s reaction when I surprised her with the Galaxy 5S. Most importantly, I spend hours contemplating what I could’ve, should’ve, would’ve done to make my day brighter, less bitter, more interesting, less dull. Then I beat myself up for not waiting a couple more minutes to hold the door open for Mr. Slow Poke coming out of IHop. I stay on the thought of how last week I should have paid more attention to the Son & Dad at Family Dollar not able to afford their frozen Pizza.

Insomnia. That’s what they call it.

I promise I don’t have it, not clinically diagnosed with it, I mean. But I do confess that I get extra thoughtful at these hours. Maybe its the silence that wakes my thoughts up. If you really think about it, silence is kinda noisy and annoying. When I’m quiet and I have nothing or no one around me, I hear the silence making my head go crazy. That dead air. That forever going beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Do you ever hear that? Or am I really out of my mind?

At these hours, my thoughts jump from one subject to the next. I guess its only these hours that my mind wants to actually function. I think about the things I don’t want to think about, the things I told myself I never would and the things I should never think of. If ya get me.

72 wpm. My fingers are aching but my mind is demanding to keep typing. I promise you I’m tired. The thought of having to be at work at 6 a.m. is even more dreadful, but here I am letting my finger tips dance along the keyboard. Here I am thinking I should of said everything and anything I wanted to, to that sales rep.

You know, these are the hours that I think about my real dad the most. Though I promised myself I would let it go, these are the hours that beg to hang on to him a little tighter.

These are the hours that make me smile, but blur my vision with tear full eyes at the same time.

I close my eyes and I see things I don’t wanna see. I remember things I told myself I’d forget.

Dammit. I should of waited at the door for Mr. Slow Poke even though he was taking his sweet ass time to the door. I should of stopped organizing the stupid ChapStick flavors in alphabetical order so I could of paid for the frozen Pizzas. But I can’t now. It’s too late. The boy went home without his dinner.

3:12 a.m. now.

They call it insomnia.