The Deepest Breath

by Meg Grehan

  Four five six

  Seven

  And half a Santa poking out of a chimney

  Seven-and-a-half Santas and nine minutes and the bus stops

  And I am there

  Our town’s library is

  Small on the outside

  But giant on the inside

  Because from the outside

  It looks

  Just like a normal building

  Small and old

  With red bricks

  That are a little dirty

  And super old

  But on the inside

  There are

  Books

  Books and books and books and

  Books

  Piles and stacks and shelves full and overflowing

  And when you walk in

  And you see all the books

  And smell the paper and dust and warmth

  You know

  It can’t possibly be small

  It goes on forever

  And ever

  We haven’t been to the library in a while

  Just a little while

  The flower beds are covered in snow

  So the flowers must be sleeping

  Under the ground

  And the big tree

  That looked like magic in the autumn

  Is bare

  But it still looks proud

  I touch the trunk

  And tell the tree it’s doing

  Just fine

  And not to worry

  Its leaves will come back

  eleven

  I’m not sure where to start

  Which section would have the answer

  To this

  Particular

  Question

  I decide to start in the kids’ section

  Because that’s the place

  I know best

  I feel safe there

  Among the colorful spines

  And covers with adventurous kids

  There are squishy beanbags

  And art on the walls

  Of jungles and

  Oceans and

  Galaxies

  And shelves and shelves and shelves

  Of books

  And I can read

  Any one I want

  I can read every single one

  If that’s what it takes

  I start at A

  And move through the alphabet

  But by N

  I still haven’t found anything

  I’ve found books about princesses and princes

  About kings and queens and wizards and witches

  About talking animals and flying cars and

  Spaceships and aliens and whales and

  Puppets and toys and bugs

  But nothing

  About a princess and a princess

  Or a queen and a queen

  Nothing at all

  To answer

  My question

  I move to the history section

  Which feels

  Like the next safest place

  Because this is Mum’s section

  My mum likes history books

  Big ones

  With pages thin as tissue

  And words so small they look like ants

  Running around

  Telling stories

  Of wars and expeditions and revolutions

  Mum loves them

  She vanishes into this section

  Every time

  Like an explorer

  Or a time-traveler

  Venturing into the past

  And returning

  With books that weigh more than I do

  And an excited look on her face

  The shelves are too high here

  Me standing on my own shoulders

  With another me standing on her shoulders

  Still couldn’t reach the top

  So I start on the bottom shelves

  And crawl along

  Until I hit

  China

  Then Egypt

  Then on and on

  Around the world

  Through decades

  And centuries

  And millennia

  But still

  Nothing

  I plonk on the ground

  In a corner

  Somewhere between

  The First World War

  And the Second

  Where no one can see me

  And I pull my knees into my chest

  And drop my head to my knees

  And I try

  Try try try my hardest

  To breathe

  In and out and in

  And out

  Coming here was a mistake

  I know it now

  Suddenly

  Although I think I probably knew

  All along

  Or else

  I wouldn’t have lied to my mum

  Good ideas don’t need lies

  I think

  I feel lost

  In a way I’ve never felt lost before

  I know exactly where I am

  And how I got here

  And how to get home

  But here I am

  In a corner

  Lost lost lost

  Here I am

  In a corner

  Surrounded by all the information

  All the answers I could ever want

  Lost lost lost

  And just as tears

  Start to prickle my eyes

  A voice

  Says

  “Oh

  What’s happened here?”

  A surprised voice

  A little stern

  So I lift my head

  And there

  In front of me

  Is the librarian

  “The kids’ books are over there”

  She says

  And I try to figure out how to tell her

  No

  This is where I need to be

  But I’m not even sure about that anymore

  So I just look up at her

  And I must look lost or something

  Because her face softens

  And she crouches down beside me

  I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before

  If anyone would know

  Where to find

  A book

  It would be her

  It would be

  The librarian

  Of course

  I start to feel

  A little bit

  Better

  She has a friendly face

  Round and soft

  With laugh lines

  That actually came from laughing

  I’d bet

  She has long brown hair

  In a braid

  With little wispy curls

  Around her face

  To me

  She looks

  Kind of a like a

  Queen

  Powerful and knowledgeable

  How I want to be

  She tells me her name is Susan

  And asks

  What I’m doing

  Curled up in the history section

  And she asks it

  Like curling up in the history section

  Is a totally normal thing to do

  Like it isn’t weird or surprising

  At all

  So I tell her the truth

  Because I feel like I can

  “I’m trying to find

  Some information”

  “Well, you’re in the right place”

  She smiles and I smile too

  Because it’s that kind of a smile

  She asks who I’m here with

  And that’s when the good feeling slips a bit

  And I consider lying

  I even get the lie ready

  On my tongue

  But it tastes

  Bitter and wrong

  So the truth comes out i
nstead

  “I’m here alone”

  And she says

  “OK

  And does your mammy know you’re here?”

  And from the way she asks

  I can tell that she already knows

  So I shake my head

  And she sighs

  The expression on her face gets a little less soft

  “Well,

  Why don’t you come up to my desk

  And we’ll see if we can find your information

  And give her a call.”

  There’s no question mark

  And suddenly

  I feel

  Trapped

  “No

  Please!”

  It explodes from my mouth

  Not a shout

  But too loud for a library

  And people look at me

  And Susan looks at me

  And to my horror

  My absolute

  Horror

  I start to cry

  Susan puts a hand on my shoulder

  And whispers

  “Come on then”

  And she guides me

  Back to her desk

  The librarian’s desk

  Is big

  And wraps round

  In a circle

  Making a little round office

  Like a spaceship

  Right in the middle of the library

  So when you sit there

  Like I do now

  You can see

  Everything

  I spin

  Around and around and around

  Slowly

  So I don’t get dizzy and ill

  So people don’t look at me again

  And I take it all in

  And there are people

  Lots of them

  People I’ve never seen here before

  Because usually

  I’m at school

  And usually

  When I come here with Mum

  It’s full of other kids

  In different school uniforms

  All reading the new Wizards of Westerly Station book

  And trying to guess the ending together

  And yelling spells at each other

  And being shushed

  But today

  It’s full of old people reading newspapers

  And looking things up on the computers

  And mums

  And dads

  Reading quietly

  To little kids

  Little little

  Like babies and toddlers and kids too small for school

  There’s a group of adults in a corner

  Drinking tea and practicing English together

  And two women chatting by the door

  As they hang up posters about

  Book clubs

  And typing lessons

  The library is full

  And warm

  And lovely

  And I think

  As I spin

  That it’s probably

  My very favorite place

  When Susan comes back

  She hands me a big mug of tea

  And a little sugar pot

  “There you go”

  She says

  “That’ll revive you”

  I’m not sure what that means

  But I like the sound of it

  We sip in silence for a few minutes

  Me still spinning

  Slowly slowly slowly

  In the librarian’s chair

  Her sitting on a stool she pulled over

  Both of us watching people read and study and learn and chat

  Eventually I say

  “I’m sorry I was loud”

  Because I am

  And she looks at me and says

  “That’s OK”

  In a voice that means

  She’s telling the truth

  So I relax a bit

  But in the same voice

  She says

  “You shouldn’t go anywhere without asking your mum first

  You know”

  And shame floods my chest

  I nod

  Hard

  “I know”

  I tell her

  “But

  Well

  I had to”

  Susan shakes her head

  And starts scrolling on the computer

  Looking for Mum’s number

  After a minute she says

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?”

  I ask

  Although I already know

  And she just gives me a look

  Because she knows that I know

  I sigh

  And put my mug down

  “Please don’t call my mum

  Not yet”

  I cross my fingers

  Under my chair

  “I just need a little more time”

  “What for?”

  She asks

  “Research”

  I say

  And she grins

  Like I’ve said the exact right thing

  “And what are you researching?”

  And I open my mouth

  To say

  Fish

  I am researching

  Fish

  But instead

  My tongue

  My teeth

  My lips

  Conspire against me

  And my traitorous mouth

  Blurts out

  “Girls”

  If she’s surprised

  She hides it well

  Better than I do

  I give my tongue a little

  How-dare-you bite

  “What about girls?”

  She asks

  And I’m not sure

  How to

  Answer

  “Well—”

  I start

  “Not just

  Girls”

  She nods

  Encouraging me to go on

  “But girls

  And girls”

  I let out a big breath

  Long and slow

  A steady

  Whoosh

  “Girls and girls?”

  She repeats

  And I nod

  “Girls and girls”

  I tell her about Chloe

  I tell her about her nail polish

  And her magic tricks

  And how she always has a banana at lunch

  And writes the date in gold gel pen on her homework

  And how I notice these things

  And how I’m starting to think

  I know why

  “Do I have a crush?”

  I ask

  In my smallest voice

  A voice so small

  I didn’t even know I had it

  And I think I might cry again

  “Or”

  I ask

  “Is there something wrong with me?”

  Susan puts her tea down

  Carefully

  Then

  She looks into my eyes

  Straight into my eyes

  Which are a little blurry

  With tears I’m determined to keep in

  And she says

  “There is nothing

  Absolutely nothing

  Wrong with you”

  And my tears escape

  Enough for a lake

  A sea

  An ocean

  I snuffle and snort a lot

  I am not a tidy crier

  I am a messy snotty crier

  And I go through millions of tissues

  I cry until I’m empty

  But Susan just sits

  And waits

  And hands me tissue after tissue

  With the first full breath I manage

  I choke out

  “Are you

  Sure?”

  And she

  Does a littler />
  Nod

  And I laugh

  And I don’t know why

  But I laugh

  All the relief in my belly

  Bubbles up

  And turns to laughs

  And I laugh

  Until I have no laughs left

  When I’m finished crying and laughing

  And we’ve scooped all of my snotty tissues into the bin

  We just sit

  Susan looks sad and happy at the same time

  And I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with that

  So I stay quiet

  And add another spoon of sugar to my tea

  “Have you tried talking to your mum about this?”

  I tell her

  “Yes

  I tried

  But I don’t think I did it right

  Because she didn’t understand

  And she usually does”

  “And she never told you?

  That it’s OK?”

  Susan asks

  And her voice

  Sounds heavier

  Weighed down by something

  Sad

  “She did

  I suppose

  She told me

  People could love people

  That boys could love boys

  And boys could love girls

  And girls could love boys

  And girls could love—”

  But I suppose

  She never told me

  I could

  “Silly”

  I mutter

  Why didn’t I think I was part of

  Everyone

  How did I forget I was

  Part of

  Everyone

  It all just seemed

  Further away

  Far from me