In Sight Of Chaos

i was just a girl. not even twelve yet. so how can you blame me? how could i resist those strong, wide shoulders as he stepped out of that car. diplomatic plates. CD 47. tinted windows. how these things stay with us.

we hoped that he would notice us yet prayed he wouldn't see us as we tailed him around the librbary. he remained seemingly oblivious; taking books off shelves as we swooned around the corner, every move a magnificent miracle. was it possible that a physique that perfect existed beyond the confines of the covers of those historical novels that sat in the adult section - where we were allowed to look but could not touch. i knew his name for he went to school with my brother. i had gotten that information without letting on my intentions. my brother may have felt it was his duty to defend my honour against a man who knew nothing of my existence.

herman hesse. how familiar that name sounded but i had no time to figure out why. i was too busy picking the two books closest to me for he was headed towards the library and i had to beat the other girls and get as close to herman hesse as possible. not too close as to be obvious but close enough to maybe feel his essence, to smell his aura (or at the very least his cologne). i would mumble, hopefully, the right responses to the librarian stamping my book - recognising me from the week before - barely able to hold myself back as he exited the library. grabbing my books i would casually hurry out the door to catch that magnificent back disappearing behind the tinted glass of that black car.

and at that moment i would take flight from the self. perhaps brush the edges of nirvana. but, all too soon, the black car would disappear around the corner and i would be jerked back to the reality of how i was going to explain my book choices to my father. and to make plans for next week.