The Library


Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.


‘Libraries,” mused Jack, “Are fusty old places for fussy old ladies wearing rusty black dresses. “

This trip to the library was such a pain. He had a research paper to write, and that made the library necessary. He’d much rather be outdoors, throwing a football with the guys or getting up a basketball game. Sitting at a table in a mausoleum wasn’t his idea of a good time. Not even close. But it had to be done, and he was almost at the end of his college career.

The place actually gave him the creeps.  It was one of the oldest buildings on campus, and all the furnishings were old as well, including the head librarian. She seemed to wait for him to walk in so she could put her arthritic old finger to her puckered lips as she glared at him over her rimless spectacles.  Good grief, the old girl had to be at least a hundred. Libraries were places for dried up old maids who never laughed, never took joy in anything but shushing their customers.

Jack tossed his jacket on an empty table and went to the computer bank. Good, there was one he could use. He quickly typed in a search for the information he needed, happy to see that there were several books and a couple of periodicals he could use.  It wasn’t that Jack didn’t enjoy learning. He did. He just hated the atmosphere in the library, which made him slightly claustrophobic.

 Copying the reference numbers he would need, Jack walked back into the history section and began browsing the shelves for the books he needed.  Becoming absorbed in his search, he moved slowly down the row. He stopped now and then to pull out a book, adding it to the ones he would check out.  He squatted, searching for a number on the bottom shelf, when he was bumped and toppled over in an embarrassing heap.

He glanced up as he regained his balance and was just about knocked over again by the ethereal vision that stood in front of him. Nice legs.  Well, after all, he was down on the floor and couldn’t help but notice. Looking up at her face, he all but dropped his tongue on the ground.  Where on earth had this thing of beauty been hiding all his life?

Soft, dark hair with just enough curl to frame that glorious face. Eyes so blue it was hard to believe they were real. Cheekbones a model would covet. A dimple on the left side of her smiling lips, and a sparkle in her eyes that let him know she was enjoying his predicament. Wow.  And to think he’d found her in this fusty, dusty old library!

“Hi, I’m Jack. Who are you?”


9 thoughts on “The Library

  1. Poor Jack seems to have a mental time warp when it comes to libraries. I thought the story was early 1900s until I got to the computer. I wonder how many young men today have seen “fussy old ladies wearing rusty (rustling?) black dresses” other than at a funeral?
    Maybe this young lady works at the library and Jack will be hanging out there a lot now? 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I very much fear that, because of computers, libraries are becoming passe. The one in my town is indeed run by a fust old lady who hasn’t quite made it into the computer age 🙂


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