Her name is Sarah. Sitting in that dusty, unlit corner of the library. The silent room. Where no one can bother her, her thoughts, or her little imaginations. She’s glad there are no chairs in this room. Chairs make imagining far too up and down. Sitting in a chair she can’t lock out her mother’s voice: “Sit up straight, shoulders back, don’t scowl, be more lady like!” No, chairs are not the place to be herself.

Instead there are pillows and cushions and padded mats. The options for arranging your body in the least or most comfortable possible are endless. Unlimited. The choice today is a pensive hedgehog. Her auburn hair catches the stray sunlight from the skylight. If she were to lift her head just an inch, the light would catch in those green-blue eyes. But today those eyes are scanning and re-scanning the pages she cradles on her lap. The words aren’t focusing. They’re not telling the story right.

Perhaps it’s the thoughts behind the mind that are occupying her today. Mum refused to take her to school today. Mum said she couldn’t stand to be in the same vehicle as such a worthless waste of space. So she had to make the 2 hour trip herself. Walk, bus, walk, train, walk. The cool girls stole her lunch, so she had to pick an apple from the school garden. There was a worm in it. Plus apples hurt her empty stomach. She aced her math test, but that just pushed her deeper into the geek closet. Being smart won’t get her anywhere if she can’t make friends.

She’s different, that’s obvious. But there’s something inside her that simply cannot conform to what they’re telling her to be. And somewhere inside there’s a spark that tells her this school and this awkward section of life is small. There is something bigger. There will be bigger things. In the madness that exists out there, there is a place where she is the missing piece of some puzzle.

Now the words make sense on the page. So she settles into the story, waiting for this day to wane. Anticipating the next.


6 thoughts on “Bookworm

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