Chapter 4: Strawberries and book dust

August 1997

The school was small made completely of grey stones. There were fewer than 300 students in the four grades it held, across the street stood a middle school and an elementary school. It was about 0630 when I arrived my first class was at 0730. I had gained my schedule a week prior. It had room numbers and class lists. I was wearing the same blue button down and pair of jeans I had worn on the flight to this horrendous state. My sister had promised to take me shopping for new clothes, but it hadn’t occurred yet. I entered the front double doors which were propped open and climbed a small stair to the main floor. My sister had given me a brief description of the layout. My first period class was English which was on the 1^st or basement floor. I decided to check out the library which was on the main or second floor. I passed a series of classrooms. The walls were a punishing shade of teal. I knew the school colors were Red and Grey and the hallways were teal. The lockers were burgundy. I pulled the sheet of paper from my pocket, it read 27. I quickly found locker 27 and stowed the three afternoon classes’ books in the locker and placed the padlock I’d been given on it.

I continued on the gym was open and I knew it was across from the library. There was a classroom directly across from the near door followed by a glass sealed stairwell with another propped door. There was a pair of oak doors with brass handles next to some vending machines. I could smell book dust and strawberries. The strawberry scent was coming from the library. It was sweet intoxicating almost. I grasped the cool brass and opened the doors only to hear sobbing. My twin beating stone ached a bit at the sound. The library itself was small, equivalent to two classrooms with heavy oak shelves lined with books, a series of tables and a single desk immediately to my right. Across from me was a semicircle of three couches. On the center couch a hideous orange couch, a brown-haired girl was laying facing down and sobbing. She smelled like strawberries.

To this day I still don’t understand why I did what I did. The act was completely out of character to me at the time. I walked over to the couch and sat down, pulling her into my arms. She kept crying onto my chest as I whispered, “It’s all right love ... everything will be okay...”

Eventually she composed herself and pulled herself from my arms, “I’m sorry about that.”

I extended my hand, “Hi, I’m John.’

She adjusted her hair and then shook my hand, “Alex.” Bump a bump. What the hell was that?