When you were in high school, you found a way to "work" in the library instead of have a full schedule of classes. This worked out in your favor because you found a secret room that you'd hide in instead of work. In your mind, you called this The Magazine Room which was very appropriate because it was a room filled with old magazines.
These weren't the only things, though, there were also old yearbooks, newspapers, and textbooks. They all smelled that very particular "wet smell", it was the smell your books would get after walking home in the rain, a very thick and pungent scent. It was something you learned to deal with because you would much rather sit in this room with a can of Sprite instead of out in the library helping kids try to sign on to computers.
That's something always bugged you. You were the same age as them and yet they couldn't grasp that they couldn't watch amateur pornography on the computer, even if they were in the back and no one could see. They didn't understand that their password was their ID number and their ID number could by found on any piece of paper given to them by the school.
And your frustration helped you decide to stay in the room for as long as possible. You'd come in early and sneak in there before any other students would arrive and sit there with your headphones listening to music while you read Camus, Hemingway, or an old yearbook.
You'd check the time on your digital watch and impatiently wait for the numbers move into the right time -- the right time being the time you could finally leave for the day. You did this for months, you read American classes, almost every Shakespeare play, and you knew almost all the names for the graduating class of 1983.
When you look back on it, like right now, you wonder if you were bored or just really engaged in the simple things. And that's another thing about you, you are so easily entertained it's hard for you to know when you actually like something. But back then, in high school, you didn't really care. You were happy with your ham sandwich and CD collection.
But like all stories worth telling, one day something changed. You remember right? You were in The Magazine Room, pacing back and forth while you read Hamlet and right when you decided to take your headphones off and start reciting the play, the door opened and there she was.
She (you don't really remember her name but it was something like Kate but spelled in a way that told you her parents didn't really care or smoked a lot before she was conceived) stood in the doorway looking at you surprised and sat down at the small table that was at the center of the room. You asked her what she was doing and she said she was going to study and you knew there was nothing you could do about this.
The two of you spent the next couple of weeks getting to know each other, she wouldn't study and you wouldn't read/recite Hamlet. Instead, you got to know each other. It started out innocuously enough, asking favorite foods and favorite colors. But sooner or later you started sharing the reason why you spend so much time in this room, isolated from the world around you. And she didn't really understand it.
But you continued to open up in a way that you haven't before and it felt good. You never thought that you'd find someone that you'd feel one-hundred percent open with but there you were, talking and laughing and smiling.
One day, she moved her chair up next to yours as you were reading an old copy of Catcher in the Rye. She tapped your shoulder and asked you what you were listening to, instead of answering you took your headphones off and set them on the table, turned the volume all the way up, turning them into makeshift speakers:
"You gave me a heart attack; I did not see you there. I thought you had disappeared so early away from here." And this is the chance I never got to make a move.
She rested her head on your shoulder and mumbled to herself, "is this what it's like to be you?" and you didn't respond. You wanted to say yes but you weren't really sure. You just put your arm around her and listened to the rest of the album.