18 Distracting Myself

He came like the wind, gently and slowly seeping in through the windows. Mr. Boardmann loomed like a relic from my past.

Therefore it was only logical that I distract myself. I spent the afternoon walking down to the touristic part of the boulevard from my house at the extreme end of the boulevard. I admired the sea on my right as I walked along the endless blue-bricked path. There was a slight breeze all around me. My hair swayed with the wind. I watched the dune grass sway gracefully; its sharp blades and frilly crowns made a whistling sound against the wind. The migratory herons were standing stoically in camouflage amongst the shrubby foliage, silently waiting for prey. I took it all in. These were the loves of my life at this moment of time.

After walking for five kilometres, the uneasiness I felt dissipated. The public library came in sight on the left of the boulevard. I entered, mostly for a cup of tea at the tea café which made up a corner of the library. It was where you could also read magazines and books while enjoying your tea.

The café was empty except for Cherie, the librarian who also doubled up as the tea-lady. I saw her every time I went to the library. She was hard to miss as the library was almost always empty. I thought it was due to its location some distance away from the hustle and bustle of the suburb. Also, because this suburb was the residence of white-collar professionals who worked during the day, they simply had not the time or the inkling to go to the library. What more, when you can read e-books nowadays. Well, I was but old-fashioned when it came to books.

I loved to drown myself in the trials and tribulations of dusty, old hand-held books which I could feel, touch and see. The older the book, the better; the richer the history of the book. I wondered about the previous readers of the books; whose hands had skimmed down the pages just as mine did. I liked to look at the different type-sets used. They almost seem to bulge out from paper. I touched the corners of the books. I felt the texture of the individual pages. I especially liked brown, vintage paper. Oh, the loves of my life. I needed nobody. Just me against the world.

I emphasized on loving my life a lot today as I needed to rid Mr. Boardmann from my central nervous system. It seemed that he had been lodged there and it was affecting my faculties. It was through no fault of mine. I just did not need to go into too much reasoning of why and how. I reprimanded myself. Just do something and get moving, Lila, the call girl.

I had a cup of bergamot tea. I was beginning to relax, and the tea made me feel rather languid. I took Jane Eyre from the shelf. I have read it numerous times, more for the language rather than the story line. Somewhat dramatic, long-winded perhaps but I could really feel the passion in her character, the strength in her suffering and the redemption she craved. I liked strong women. No kudos to her troubled, arrogant and ignorant, male counterpart. But then it brought me back to him- not Mr. Rochester, but to him whose eyes pierced me. I slammed the book like a door, put it back on the shelf and started helping Cherie sort out the returned books.