A Broken World in Need of Fixing

She’s here again today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sit so silently for such a long time, and I’d spent my fair share of time at the library even before I began to work here. I walk past her as she sits in the large cozy chair hidden behind the corner on my way to reshelve some books. She doesn’t even look up. I’m not surprised though; she never looks up. On my way back to the front desk, I notice that her hands are clenching the book as if it were her only lifeline. Something exciting must be happening. I stoop to “tie my shoes” so I can get a better look at what she’s reading. Ah yes, Pride and Prejudice, a favorite of hers. As I finish my journey to the front desk, I muse about how all I know about this girl is which books she likes, and yet I feel as though she were a good friend of mine.

“You’re crazy,” I mumble to myself as I refill my cart with books to put back. “You don’t even know her name. You’ve never even heard her speak!”

I quickly glance around to make sure no one heard my ramblings. Phew. No one’s around. I hastily finish piling my cart full of returns and set out again. Without thinking, I glance over at her. Her hands have relaxed their grip on the hardback. I wish once again that her hair was not hanging down like a curtain around her face so I could see what her eyes were saying. Almost as if she had heard my thoughts, she suddenly looks up, seemingly right at me. Startled, I almost drop a stack of books. She hurriedly shoves the book in her bag and begins to walk towards the door. I remember that the library’s clock would be right above my head from her perspective. I push back the disappointment as I return to shelving books. Maybe I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Or not.

A few hours later my shift ends. I punch out and head west to meet my friend at his favorite coffee shop for a poetry slam. I’m not all that excited, but he was so hopeful when he asked me that I couldn’t say no.

I arrive a few minutes late and quickly find my friend at his table.

“Thanks for coming,” he grins, turning towards me. “I know this isn’t really your thing. But I do think you’ll like this next girl. She really has a passion for…”

Before he can finish, the emcee announces that the next poem will be called “The Silent Suffering.” I cannot believe my eyes as the girl from the library walks up onto the stage. Her eyes betray her nervousness, but she sets her jaw and begins to speak. And speak she does, about many things. How women almost always get paid less than men for the same job. How Mexican-Americans face taunts and jeers every day about how they are illegal immigrants. How rape victims feel that they must live their lives without telling anyone about their assault. How African-Americans are turned down for jobs because they aren’t considered capable, even when they have the exact qualifications. How the world is a broken place in need of fixing. She has a small quaver in her voice, but her eyes are vibrant and fiery. When she is done, the snaps are copious. She shakes her head a little, as if she were returning to reality. Flashing a quick smile, she rushes off the stage. Before I even know what I’m doing, I am out of my chair and following her. I find her backstage in a small alcove. She turns to me, a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

“Hi,” I stammer. “That poem was really great. You’re really good at… um… saying words.” Wow, smooth. “You go to the library pretty often don’t you? I work there. But you probably noticed that, since you’re there all the time. Not to say that you’ve been watching me.” Get to the point, man. “So… um… I was wondering… What’s your name?”

The girl looks up at me, smiles, and says, “Hannah.”

**Disclaimer: This is not even remotely a true story. It's more like a metaphor than anything else.**