My Little Secret

I was running out of breath as I approached the old library around the corner of Whitney street. It was a deserted street and the library was abandoned as usual. One wouldn't even call it a library as such, it was just an empty bookstore. But it was my favorite place to go on a rainy day. Apart from the books, Simon kept me company.

Simon was around eighty-five years old and he knew everything about everything. I would always go to him whenever I needed advice, he'd fall asleep midway at most times but he'd answer my questions sooner or later. He had a cabin in the basement and a kitchen too. He'd sit in the cabin and smoke his cigar, slowly. I'd usually go down to make him a cup of coffee and watch him ponder over thoughts about 1975 and his young days. At least that is what I thought he thought about. I usually sat by his feet after I give him his coffee and read my book. I'd be lost into the book when he'd ask me to read the paragraph out loud if he's saw me gasp over certain sentences.

It was wonderful, getting lost into words and thoughts written by someone. They put together alphabets, form words. Those words formed sentences that had deep meanings to it. Sometimes those words hit people, sometimes it might be something that they needed to read in that exact moment. Sometimes it could be something that they had been feeling but couldn't put into words. Usually, the books I picked up, spoke to me in some way or the other. Simon always knew when the words hit me.

I rushed into the library. I barged into the door and ran in. I could hear the sound of the tiny bell as the door closed behind me. I walked down the stairs and into the basement. Simon was in his usual spot. I let my bag slip from my shoulder and fall to the ground as I approached him. He didn't budge.

I push the wheelchair towards the kitchen and talk to him as I make his cup of coffee. I proceed to tell him about all the past experiences over the week. Simon knew me since I was 10 years old and I did not need to explain every detail of my life to him, since he already knew most of it.

"You look dreadful" he manages to say, "maybe you should go wash your face and have a glass of water"

I wash my face and dry it with a towel. I pour coffee into two cups, for the both of us. He knew what was up and he knew how to fix it.

"I hope you're ready" he says, managing a smile.

'Was I?' either way, I say "Yes. Now tell me what's wrong with me."

Simon heaved a sigh. This was a big deal and I was just about to find out why.