Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“It’s pretty cool, right? Viking influence. It’s called Norman and it’s from the eleventh and twelfth centuries. But don’t ask me anything else about it. That’s all I remember from my first day.” He’s chuckling again.
“I do like it. But it looks very old.”
“It is. Some of this is still original.”
“Original from what?”
“From the time.”
I’m just about to start a whole new line of questioning about this when Olsen points to another building, this one much newer. “This is the library. If you ever lose your map and need a map, this is where you get them. Just go to the main desk, give them your name, and they’ll hand it over. Sorry about last night. I should’ve been there but you got in so late, I didn’t want to bother you. I figured you’d be tired from the travel. Something must’ve gone wrong, right? That’s why you were late?”
My head is spinning with questions, but he’s asking for an answer. “Oh, yeah. My second flight was cancelled. I should’ve booked a non-stop from LA, but I was saving a hundred bucks. Did I mess up all your welcoming plans?”
“Nah,” he says. “No big. But that’s why you don’t have the right map.” He grins at me—and it’s a new kind of grin. A little bit devilish and sly. Then he opens the door to the library and we go inside.
It’s dark for a moment. But then my eyes adjust and when I look up, there are seven stories of incredible bookshelves at my disposal.
I’ve been in my share of amazing libraries. I did my undergrad at NYU, my master’s at Stanford and my PhD at UCLA. So I’m not easily impressed when it comes to libraries.
But this one is very nice. On par with NYU. In fact—
“Looks like NYU, right?”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting this.”
“I know you went there for undergrad, so I’m kinda glad I’m here when you see it for the first time. Same guy paid for it.”
“Bobst?”
“Yep. In fact, this was the model for the NYU building.”
“Really?”
He’s smiling at me. “I just knew you’d love the library.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’m a nerd, I guess.”
“We’re all nerds, Ryan. That’s why we’re here.”
Truth.
He leads me over to the main desk, has a flirty chat with an older woman called Brown, and then procures me my very own insider map.
We go over to a couch in the center of the space and sit down. Then he opens up the map and spreads it out on my lap. “See, it’s all on a grid. Like a roadside map book.”
It is indeed. And right there, in the corner of the Trapp building, is a little marker that says, ‘Mercer’s office, garden level.’ I laugh out loud.
“What’s so funny?”
I point to Mercer’s office. “I had trouble finding it this morning.”
“Ah.” Olsen winces. “I’m sorry! I was gonna get up early and give you a little welcome speech, but I had things going on this morning. You found it OK, though, right?”
I think back to ‘the guy’ and the way he knew I was lost. His wordless gesture to give him the map. The way he silently pointed me in the right direction. “I did,” I say, quieter now, thinking about our trip to the woods and wondering if that was even real.
All of this—from the moment I saw Mercer loitering in the hallway outside my dissertation defense room, to this one right here—feels like a dream. Like I wandered into a good-luck spell. Found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Sometimes I just want to pinch myself.
A few awkward, silent seconds pass and then Olsen clears his throat. “So. You good?”
“Um. I guess. I’m just supposed to wander around and check things out, right?”
He points at me. “And don’t be late for dinner.”
“Got it.” I chuckle.
“Do you want me to walk you somewhere?”
I look at the map, then up and around at the library and shake my head. “I think I’ll start here, if that’s OK.”
Olsen gives me a little salute. “Fine by me. Have fun.” Then he turns and walks off, jovially pointing at other people as they say hi to him as he leaves.
I watch. Wait. See if any of the people close by will come up and introduce themselves. But they don’t. They smile. One girl waves. I think these might be invitations. Encouragement for me to come over and start the introductions.
But my natural inclination is to smile back and then turn away. So that’s what I do. I pretend to study the map, like I’m trying to decide where to go, but I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay here.
I love libraries.
All. Libraries.
Even stuffy academic ones in medical buildings and law offices. It’s not just the books, either, though I am a self-confessed book lover. It’s all of it. The shelves, the paper, the leather bindings, the smell—though I am not a fan of the smell like some book lovers. It smells moldy to me. But I still expect it. It’s part of the atmosphere. I like the lighting, and the shadows, and the intensity of people who frequent libraries. Especially academic ones.