B06 – Hamburg
Jules and I had often visited other cities when we were younger. A long weekend here, a couple of days there. We loved spending hours on end in a park or walking around town. Whenever the weather was bad, we'd be visiting museums or go to the movies.
And at night we went to concerts. This was often the main reason for our travels.
We used to sit in cafés and fantasise how it would be if that was our local. And as much as we romanticised the idea of living the lives of a struggling artist and writer respectively, we never came across a place that felt more like home than our actual home to the both of us.
Of course, there was that one time that Jules moved away on her own. I never believed she did that as a grass is greener thing. More that she felt she had to get away. Even if it was only getting away from me. Even I would love a vacation from myself every now and again.
As such it was convenient when one day our old neighbour called me from his garden as I was walking by. He told me his son, who was himself old enough to be my father, had started a new business in the city and was looking for good people. He could not really tell me much about the work itself. Having worked in office jobs for a few years I was confident I could handle whatever administrative tasks it entailed. To me that did not matter. I probably would have said yes if he offered me a steady gig as a shoe shiner.
All I saw was a opening to living somewhere else. As a local. Get a real taste of the every-day life elsewhere. At least that was what I thought.
*
Not long after moving I joined a local book club. Irma, the kind old lady working at the library had invited me to one of their weekly meetings. Since I did not have any social obligations outside my work, and was often at home reading books anyways, it did seem like a good idea. And it seemed like a great chance to get to know people who shared my interests and weren’t my co-workers.
Alas the most interesting character was the elderly widow at whose house they usually congregated.
At one point she said something like "Well, I thought, that the character of 'so and so' was very much like... you know... how should I say... uhm."
And then she ended up looking for someone else in the group for help to make some sense of what she was trying to say. Maybe because I was a new face in their small circle, she ended her babble looking at me.
I think the book they were reading was called Terminal Descendant at the time. A book that I had not read.
Unsure where our host had wanted to go with her attempted comparison, I assumed that’s a good place to pick up from and went on to draw analogy to the book I was reading at the time (Drunk at the Station). At first, she was nodding away and muttering things like 'that's so right' and 'exactly', but soon another member interrupted me.
"Are you sure you read that book?"
"I can’t say I have. But what she had said reminded me of my book so I thought they might be similar."
I kept to myself for the remainder and tried to think of a book that the character of 'so and so' reminded me of based on the group’s discussions. I couldn’t come up with one.
It turned out Irma and I only lived a few houses apart and we ended walking home together.
While she thought it was funny to pull the leg of our host, she didn't think I was particularly welcome to return next time. Instead, she offered me to make use of the library when it was closed. I was free to explore and ended up spending most of my spare time there.
I found the majority of their selection consisted of two types of books:
Books for children, and books for the children's mothers. Maybe that was because those were the only people coming here. I didn't care, I read whatever I could get my hands on during that time. There were not many I found a worse experience than no book at all. And if I didn't like one, there were hundreds more within arm's reach.
One day, when it was so dark in the late afternoon hours that I had to turn on the lights I sat in my corner, reading, when suddenly the door opened and a young woman came in. I looked up and informed her the library was closed, before returning my attention to the book.
"I saw the light and thought you might be open" she announced after she closed the door from the wrong side.
"We're not."
"Do you work here?"
"No, I don't. I only read here." If people let me, that is.
"I was looking for a book." Oh, you don't say.
"I suggest you come back when it's open and ask someone who works here." I was still trying to get back to my book. "They know their stuff." I added for emphasis.
“It’s okay – I just want to have a look around.”
I closed my book and put it down next to me.
"Please.
Would you just leave, lady. The library is closed."
"You're here, too."
Following that she started to walk around the room. She didn't seem so much looking for something specific as she was looking at everything.
As though she had never been in a library.
As though she had never seen so many books as one could fit on one shelf.
"Yeah, but I was given a key by someone who works here."
"So, if anyone asks just tell them a friend stopped by to pick you up for badminton." She pointed at her sports bag that she had deposited at door earlier.
"I don't know you, lady.
And I never played badminton in my life."
She finally stopped walking. I was starting to feel a bit creepy following her around, like an eager shop clerk that believes shadowing is helpful to the browsing experience.
I was at least eager to get rid of her.
If my presence made her feel unwelcome, I took it as a minor victory.
She held out her hand. “My name is Zoey, it’s spelt like the singer” and proceeded to explain that her friend had cancelled and that she wanted to just go down to the courts and see if there's someone up for a match.
On her way she saw the light in the library and set her mind to staying in the night and reading a book. Now that she saw me as someone who wasn't busy, she decided to invite me along instead.
I informed her that although her logic was flawless, she failed to consider the possibility that I might not be interested in badminton in the first place, and that when I sit down reading, I am indeed busy.
She seemed really disappointed in me for saying that. Seeing that she left after that exchange I could not share that sentiment.
After that encounter I shied away from going to the library for a couple of weeks. It was as though it had shattered the notion I had of myself.
Over months I had cultivated the idea that other patrons coming here would see me sitting on the floor in one corner and say to themselves "why is he sitting on the floor when there's chairs?"
or "why does he sit there when the light's much better over here" or simply a form of "he's weird, better leave him alone".
Oftentimes I was completely oblivious to their presence, and only noticed other people in the room talking to Irma or one of the other clerks, when I took a break and stepped outside to for a smoke. I felt like the equivalent of a village idiot, the library twat. I was very content with my place in the world.
In away the arrival of Zoey dethroned me. I no longer felt I was the odd one out in here. And while in hindsight that whole idea was stupid to begin with, it sure taught me that nursing my pride came at a steep price.
Looking back now, I figure what shook me most, was the fact that the niche that I thought I had found for myself turned out to be more spacious and crowded than I was comfortable with.
*
Trading in some of my library hours for arthouse movies I one night I bumped into some people I vaguely knew from around. They asked me to join them for a couple of drinks in a nearby bar. They hadn’t seen me in forever.
A couple of drinks became several and as the place was nearing its closing hour, people started to make plans for where to head next.
A bunch of the people there suggested I come along to a party at the house of someone they knew. “It's totally cool” they said. And at first it was. We talked, we drank, we smoked. And we laughed. I had just grabbed a beer from the fridge and when a guy came up to me and said:
"Dude, I am going to have to ask you to leave."
"Okay..." was all I managed to cough out. "So you are..." I had no idea what the guy's name was.
”...like the owner of the place?"
When we had arrived, someone had mentioned the bloke was out partying himself and no one knew when he was back. And when he did, we never got introduced by our presumably mutual acquaintances.
"I am.” He spoke calmly but not necessarily sober.
Look, I don't mean to be rude.
But I have never met you and I don't know how you got here.
It seems no one here knows you.
Can you please leave."
He spoke more calmly and reserved than virtually anyone else in the room.
"I am very sorry about that. Some of the people at the bar asked me to tag along.
I did not mean to invade your home.
And I will leave, right away."
"Like who?
Who here knows you?"
"Geoff, the guy who works at the bookshop. He might have left already."
Without Geoff's affirmation my statement was useless. It was safe to assume everyone here at least knew of Geoff.
"Or her, over, I don't know her name, but she was there, too?"
"That's my girlfriend, Dana." She smiled and waved across the room when she saw us facing her.
"Don't worry about it. I am on my way already. No hard feelings."
I turned away from him and walked towards the door. As I put on my coat. He opened the door, and held out his hand. "I'm Alex, by the by."
I took his hand and said my good-byes.
By the time I had reached my apartment I was pretty upset and confused.
I felt I was duped into entering a stranger’s house just to be kicked out shortly thereafter, just when it seemed I was making some friends. I was angry with myself that I’d let myself get talked into what was ultimately a waste of time and the prospect of a hangover.
*
A few weeks later I bumped into Dana in a shop. She told me it was a shame I had left so soon.
I didn’t even remember talking to her, but she claimed we had a nice chat.
I figured it was best to just tell her that I was really tired that night and went to bed early.
Keeping mostly to myself after my failed excursion I soon ran out of books to read at home and had to return to the library.
I still had the key so I could still go over outside their opening hours.
To my minor surprise Irma was there.
“Your friend came by a few days ago. She wanted to thank you for your help and the patience you had with her.”
“Interesting…” I responded without any conviction.
“That’s a word I would use, indeed. She asked for a number of books which we don’t have in our selection. You have some rather peculiar friends, Franklin.”
Whilst I did not think of that person as my friend, barely an acquaintance even, it was not difficult to figure out who it was. To my astonishment however, this brief exchange with Irma shook up my whole perception.
Whereas at the time I perceived the encounter as a ploy to mess with me. I now found myself thinking that the two of us had more in common than either of us thought. And, furthermore, that whatever good intention brought her to entering a library was immediately followed by my complete rejection of her presence.
I decided to trust my instinct for once and forwent trying to set the record straight. Plus I was worried that informing Irma of my letting complete strangers in here may reflect as badly on my friends as it would on me. There did not seem to be any upside to doing that.
Instead, I asked Irma if my friend had by any chance left her address or phone number. It was true that I had lost my address book at the time and with it any contact details that I had not already committed to memory.
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