She buried her nose in the oversized book. Fine arts and pictures from the bible lay within the folds of the massive pages. She scanned over it all, drinking it in. The artwork made her simply stutter for words. Yet she found it very empty altogether. It was all the same thing over and over, the crosses, the fashion….the wars and the bloodshed. If it hadn’t been for the titles, she feared she never would have known the difference from one battle picture to the next. It saddened her. To see something so expressive compacted into the same thing. Even the impressionists still portrayed the usual life scene.
Clair twirled her earring. She was beginning to grow impatient. Letting the book slip from her hands, a violet thud echoed in the library. “Shhhhh” was heard over and over from different corners of the room. “Alright alright…” She stood, returning the book to its place on the shelf with the thousands of other untouched books. “Nothing in you heap compared to the Andy Warhol.” She turned her back on the books and walked away, trying to make an obvious statement to the books, but soon felt foolish after seeing a few watching her. They would still be there, those books. No matter what she did.
“Where is he? ” Clair waited inside the library. Her cheek pressed against the cool glass. Looking out she watched the people pass by with their oversized umbrellas, and clear rubber boots. All rushed by as taxi cabs hit the puddles of water, causing mini tidal waves to hit the cement walk ways. Finally a taxi pulls up and Andy motions her forward.
“In, before you get drenched.” Andy slid further into the cab, to the other side. She ran from the library to the car, trying the best to dodge the icy bullets. Though when Clair sat down on the old seats of the cab, she knew her attempt had failed miserably. Andy hadn’t even said hello to her. Then she perked up, maybe they were past the small talk hellos.
...
Read full text