I sit in the library, in my school, almost every day. I see, pretty much, the same people every day. A red headed girl down in the corner, sitting at the round tables, of which I hate, with a guy in a wheel chair, who seems a bit odd and has a weird sense of humour, but a good guy all the same. The both of them sit together everyday, unless one of them is not here. Then the person who is here sits alone, never with anyone else. I often wonder sometimes what they talk about. Every time I look over at them they seem to be in deep conversation. Both of them look like they have a lot of free time on their hands, so it makes me wonder if they read books upon books, then come to school and talk about what they had read the night before. Are they deciphering the universe and it secrets or, perhaps, discussing philosophy? Or are their conversations about nothing more than meaningless toilet humour, making bad jokes, talking about farting and cursing just for the hell of it?
In the desk next to them usually sit the dirty, poor kids that no one much likes, besides other misfits like themselves. They sit over there, talking loudly, about how much they�ve stolen just so they could buy some drugs. Then they talk about how messed up they are going to be when they do those drugs that they just bought with the money they got from selling the stuff that they�ve stolen to get drugs to get messed up with. They talk about how badly they are doing in school and then laugh about it. I once heard one of them say he had three years left in this place. He had already been here for three. Just so you know it only takes three years to get through this high school, if you pass. His friends idolize him because he is going to graduate years before the rest of them. He is the smartest out of them all. The others will probably be here until their mid-twenties or they will just drop out when their probation is over, which for most of them, will be never, so their stuck. Sometimes I start to feel sorry for them. I wonder what their life is like. How horrible it must be to sleep on a mattress on the floor, to come home to no one, because your father ran out on you and your mother years back, and your mother is open shop down on the corner for rent money. To eat cold soup out of a can that, to get open, took all your strength and a sharp rock. It�s cold because there is no gas or electricity because the bills haven�t been paid. Your mother�s business isn�t as profitable as it once was when she was young. The appearance of the place is getting dirty and wrinkled. I know that I should care or feel sorry for them, but I just can�t. For the most part they get only what they deserve. I admit a few of them, however, are in that situation legit, but the ones who aren�t and are just lazy, and given up on themselves, get no pity from me.
There is a girl that sits two tables to the right of me. She is here off and on, she never speaks a word, and she�s dressed very nicely, with reddish brown hair. She only does school work here. I�ve never seen her do anything but work. I have to imagine that she has good grades. I bet her parents are proud of her. But then I think a little more. Maybe she is doing work, but it�s the work that she missed while skipping the last class, or couldn�t finish in class because she was talking to her friends, of which never visit her here. She could have horrible grades and her parents could hate her, but even if these things are true or untrue I�ll never know because she never talks and only ever does her work.
In the table in front of mine there is a guy who sits in it. He is here more than me. On the days when I don�t come into the library he is sitting in the same spot, usually by himself, every day, of every week, of the year. Once in a while he has a friend, a girl, who visits him and they chat. I can tell that it is never deep conversation because they never talk long, and she never really looks at him. I think he loves her, but he doesn�t show it. Just a feeling I have. When he is alone, he sits motionless, rarely moving or looking around. He�s like a statue. Sometimes when the bell rings for the next classes and it�s time to leave, I�ve seen him not even move. He is an odd fellow.
There are also three girls who try so hard to be important. Three desperate cries for attention. They sit in here, look around at everyone else and believe they are better. They dress up in costumes everyday in their attempt to look fabulous, and to hide the secret frailties. As it turns out they would probably look better if they came to school with normal clothes on. One has a shirt that ends just under her breasts with a sweatshirt that zippers up the front, which is un-zippered. Why not just wear a bra and the sweatshirt? Not much difference. Another one has on a white dress shirt that you can see through. Not just a bit though, enough that you can see the peace of her skin. Under that she is wearing a red tank top. The color comes through so well that if you didn�t really look at her you�d think she only had the tank top on. Why does she need the dress shirt? The other is wearing a school hockey team jacket, likely to be stolen from one of the player�s lockers. Even if she has a boyfriend who is on the hockey team, what the hell is she wearing it for? She is not.
I sit here in the library almost every day. I see, pretty much, the same people. These are the regulars of this place. People I have to look at, whether I like it or not, I have no choice, but to see them if I want to come in here. Ironically I am no more than just one of them when I am here. Actually I am probably a little bit like most of them. I sit in here alone at times, hell I�m alone right now, I have seep conversations, I chat, I must think I�m better that some people because here I am judging everyone here. I am even like the girl who sits and writes all day. For all I know she could be just like me, studying everyone for the sake of a story or monologue. She may have even written me into one of her stories. Imagine, me, in a story!
By: Travis Whalen
