I am sitting on the lawn in the Library courtyard, leaning against a wooden bench, my legs curled under me, a hardbound book in my lap. The sun is shining brightly, rays stretching to the ground like greedy fingers, warming my back and glaring off multiple windshields of the cars parked not a hundred feet away.
There is a slight, cool breeze that stirs up in every direction as though it cannot decide which direction it wants to travel. North? West? South-east? Numerous opinions, each one as strong as the other, and so the wind continues its frenzy of moving in all directions at once.
The fallen leaves on the sidewalk are swept up with the wind, twirling and swooping in the confused breeze, randomly scuffing the cement and each other like excited chatter. The pages of my book lift and flap, wanting to be free to ride on the wind but their binding holds them in place, and I smooth my hand over them, quieting, settling.
A mother calls out to her child that has run too far from her side. His wispy blonde hair seems to drink in the sunshine and reproduce it in a softer, golden glow that invites my fingers to stroke it. His little fingers clasp a dandelion and pluck from its station among the vibrant blades of grass. Excitedly, he runs back to his mother who helps him make a wish and blow the dandelion until it is stripped of its fuzzy white arms. The child's interest is then caught by a small black dog that has just arrived with it's owner and the naked dandelion is discarded over his shoulder without another thought.
The mother trots after her excited child and asks the man if they can pet his "doggy". The man gives a small shrug and nods, an unsure smile on his face. The child reaches out to the dog, who calmly sniffs the pudgy fingers and gives a quick, friendly lick. The boy pulls away, surprised but delighted, his laughter shrill and lively. My lips turn up in the beginnings of a smile at the sound, and I turn back to my book. The main character is sitting in a rose garden, listening to his grandmother tell him a story of her past, when she was youthful and eager to enjoy life...
"Don't pull his ears!" The mother pries her son's fingers from the dog's ears and explains that it's different from daddy pulling his own ears to make a monkey face. The dog stares at the child with a steady, unassuming gaze. The boy pats the dog's head, explaining, "Doggy can't make monkey face," and asks the man if he can. The man stares a moment, as if deciding whether or not the boy is serious in his inquiry. His eyes dart to the mother who has placed a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stop the laughter that is gleaming in her eyes.
But then! The boy is distracted by a group of children playing a game of tag on the other side of the grass circle, and he is off to see if they are in need of another participant. The mother thanks the man, who stutters incoherently and shrugs multiple times, waves away her apology and bends down to pet his dog as the mother yet again tromps after her child.
A yellow SUV pulls up, windows down, some kind of punk-pop blasting from the speakers. I manage to catch a few voices singing along, loud and slightly flat, before the music is cut and hurried chatter takes its place. Four teens jump out, slamming doors, laughing and teasing loudly. They each have an interesting collection of ripped jeans, hemp jewelry, piercings, and dreadlocks... and obnoxious laughs, like angry geese. They are completely enraptured by themselves and each other and don't notice the stares people send their way, eyes silently shooing, "Go inside, go inside, give us peace." But they stop, oblivious, and light two cigarettes, sharing, going silent long enough to take a drag, pause, and exhale slowly. They pin leaves beneath their worn shoes and crunch them, twisting their ankles as though desperate to end any life that may be left in the greenery. They mumble about the "crazy wind" and how it "totally blows the smoke right back up my nose". They give up their smoking, resume the loud talk and laughter, and enter the Library.
Silence, aside from the scuffing leaves. Pigeons land on the lawn where no humans are and gurgle at one another as they begin a frenzied hunt for anything worth eating. The breeze stirs my imagination, the sun sends a delightful shiver down my spine, and I am once again enraptured by the words on the pages of my book.
