The Unleavenedth Hour (10/17/08 Friday)

The relief lasted until I came in yesterday--or, rather, until I saw Julie's car in the lot as Stacey pulled in with me and Hinckley. I'd always rather get in before Julie; I don't want to see her before I can at least pretend I'm immersed in work--checking email, repairing books, sorting carts--so I can pretend I didn't notice her arrival. Pathetic, eh?

So I was already besieged by neuroses armed to the teeth when I turned the corner of my desk and reflexively glanced down the row to the last desk. Every day Julie is more entrancingly beautiful than the day before. It seems almost a taunt. She was wearing a sleeveless, black-print dress. I was lost. The schedule said shelving at the top of the hour. The carts were all nearly empty. A discharge cart needed emptying. I started toward it, but its proximity to Julie, a desk away, might as well have been my head in the lion's mouth. I backed away, my mind a riot, and fled the workroom with the heels of my hands against my temples. A tour of the hallway was no relief. I resolved to grab a cart and escape into the stacks pronto.

I took the fiction. It was the heaviest cart, but still not half-full. And though not half-sorted, either, it didn't take long (enough) to empty. With blinders on, I returned, sat at my desk to repair a small stack of books. The end of the day seemed impossibly far away. I took off my glasses, squeezed the bridge of my nose. It occurred to me then that if I couldn't see I couldn't see Julie. Three of the books were goners; I took them to the second discharge counter to send them on their way, leaving my glasses behind. Mike was at the first station. "Did you get a ride in?" he asked. "Yeah. But I wish I'd come in on my own. I already feel like leaving." "You don't look like you're feeling well." "Oh, it's not physical; it's emotional." "Well, let me know if you want to talk about it." "Sure. Thanks."

Last in my stack was a book/CD Julie had given me the day before. "A present for you," she'd said, handing it to me. "But it's not my birthday yet," I'd replied, stinging myself with the lame response. The block and front board were separated, but I noticed a piece of tape across the back of the CD inset in the board. I replaced my glasses (I didn't want her to ask; I would've told her) and strolled to her desk. "Julie." "Yes?" She removed her headphones. "Did you notice this when you gave it to me yesterday?" I handed it to her. "It wasn't like this when I saw it," she said. Hating to contradict her, I said, "Well, it was like that when I got it." "Huh," she said, head pointed at her crosslegged lap, where she was scraping at the tape with a short fingernail. I gazed at her bare knees. She repeated her claim. I, yet more painfully reluctant, repeated mine. "Huh, well," she said, "you know what?" Julie held up a round plastic cover. The CD still lay in the other half. Embarrassed but not mortified, I managed a good laugh at myself and took everything back from her and to my desk. She followed to show me the damage she had meant for me to repair. The damage was obvious; I didn't have to be shown, but she wasn't Mary Lou. I didn't shout her away.

I felt better--sometimes I think that all I really want is for her to talk to me--but the glasses still came off again and remained so till after lunch.

As last Thursday, Julie and I were on the desk at six. Knowing since a peek at the schedule the night before, I pondered strategy. I wanted desperately to get another rise out of her somehow, if only by ironically, letting her know I wouldn't be bothering her that hour. But part of me also wanted to passively spite her by not talking to her at all. Of course, that wouldn't work. It's probably what she would want. She never seems craven for conversation. But the "Library Card Challenge" took the strategy out my hands. The line to the circ desk reached nearly to Children's the entire hour as we registered one kid after another for cards. I was angry the entire time for having my decision made moot on, likely, my only shot of the week.

Talked with Stacey at her place after work. She confirmed that she had needed a break from my obsession. I'm glad she was truthful with me about it. I hope I wasn't taxing last night and that I was a good listener. I told her something Tammy had told me about my desk rescue of Julie back in June: that it clued a few people in on my feelings for Julie. (Really, how could it not have?) Stacey told me Megan came to her afterwards and recounted the scene, amused and surprised that I could be so loud and demonstrative. The picture is gaining a deeper focus.