supplicium post mortem

w4m – 22 – Widener 4 East

You surprised me in the stacks last night. I was the freshman wearing a yellow blouse, navy blue jumper, and knee-socks – you know, the girl with glasses sitting cross-legged in Victorian literature, the one so absorbed she didn’t hear you approach, the one who screamed and then blushed furiously when you asked what she was reading?

You wore khakis, white shirt under gray v-neck sweater, and a tie loose at the neck. A leather satchel weighed across your chest. You looked old, maybe even a grad student. Who wears a tie to the stacks on a Thursday night?

I know I was unfriendly, but you should know I was embarrassed. I wish I hadn’t acted like such a glacier. You may remember my vocabulary: fuck off, pervert, asshole, weirdo. I can only say, Sorry.

Did you know the shelf I’d emptied and the volume over which I pored? Swinburne, A.C. and an astonishing piece of prose called Love’s Cross Currents? I think, from the glint in your eye, that you did. Then you probably knew my heart was beating somewhere other than my chest, and my thighs were tingling against the marble floor.

Meet me there again, any night this week before closing. I’ve heard people spend the night in the stacks. I’ve heard there are ghosts. We could take some volumes down to D-level. Or maybe you’ve got a carol somewhere? Perhaps you could tutor me in Swinburne’s oeuvre, or thereabouts.

Check out other missed connections this week:

• Frenchies
• PapaTomLA