I Was Here(67)

27

             The next time I go to the library, the front door is locked. Which is weird. I know the opening hours by heart. Closed Sunday and Mondays. Open Tuesdays from one to six. I check my phone. Tuesday, three thirty. I give the doors a shake and then, frustrated, a kick.

             I come back the next day, when the library should be open all day, but it’s the same thing. Mrs. Banks is inside, though. I knock on the door.

             “What’s going on?” I ask her when she unlocks it.

             “There was a small electrical fire over the weekend,” she tells me. “We have to rewire, and there’s no electricity in the building until then. We’ve been warning them about the wiring for years.” She shakes her head and sighs. “Budget cuts.”

             “What am I supposed to do?” I cry. The library has become my lifeline, my conduit to All_BS. It’s already been four days since we last communicated, and I’m strung out.

             Mrs. Banks smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ve thought of that.” She goes back inside and returns with a shopping bag full of books. “You can keep them until we reopen. Shouldn’t be longer than a week or two. These are off the grid, so to speak,” she says with a wink. “So we’re on the honor system. But I trust you.”

                          x x x

             The next time I have Internet access is Friday at Mrs. Chandler’s. But she’s there, so there’s no sneaking the signal. I’m desperate to hear from All_BS, desperate enough to explain to Mrs. Chandler about the library fire and ask if I can stay after work to check my email using her Wi-Fi connection. Mrs. Chandler looks at me a long time. “You don’t have Internet at your house?” she asks. I shake my head, embarrassed. “Of course,” she says. “Use it any time.”

             I’m itchy and anxious when I log on. What if All_BS has lost interest? But then I see the number of unread messages from him. The silence has worked in my favor. Used to hearing from me almost every day, except Sundays and Mondays, All_BS is clearly worried that I haven’t responded to his messages in nearly a week. The tone of his messages is one of increasing concern. I can’t quite tell if he’s worried that I offed myself without telling him—or that I changed my mind.

             Tricia always says that guys want you more when they think they can’t have you.

             I reassure him that it’s just Internet access issues. And then I think of Mrs. Chandler’s concerned face, and I get an idea.

             I don’t think I’ll have regular access to Internet again for a while, I write, playing up the library’s electrical problems. And I don’t know how I’ll do this without your help. I already chose my route, but if I don’t catch the bus soon, I might miss it. Is there any other way we can communicate? Like on the phone?

             It feels like it takes an hour for his response to arrive, though it only takes five minutes.

             That’s not wise, he writes back.

             I force myself to wait ten minutes before replying. I don’t see any other way, I write. And then I type my cell phone number. Call if you can.

                          x x x

             I hear nothing. And without Internet, we can’t have our email communication either. I am disgusted to admit it to myself, but I miss the back and forth. Which really means I miss him.

             Work is tedious. No matter how much I scrub and polish, the houses still seem dingy to me. One morning I arrive at the Purdues’ and see Mr. Purdue’s car in the driveway, and I want to run away, but where is there to go? I steel myself and open the door with the key Mrs. Purdue hides for me under the fake rock.