Ghost of You

I was in a library. It was empty of almost everyone except a few people and an old librarian seated behind a long oak desk at the front, her glasses on chains sliding down her nose as she typed on her laptop. The books were dusty and smelled of mold. An orange tabby cat sat atop one of the shelves, its green eyes dancing back and forth over the floor. It purred gently, licking at its paw. I was wary of it, afraid. A number. I was looking for a number. One of the numbers on the shelves. The cat was watching me now, its tail curling around its thick body. It lurched, flying past me and into one of the shelves, sending a book crashing to the floor. It turned and stared, a low meow passing through its lips. It meowed again, louder, as if to say words. And then it did.

“Tom. Tom...”


I sat up, feeling the sweat cascade down my cheek. My hands shook at my sides as I looked up into Mrs. Listing's frowning face.

“Tom?” she said again. “You okay?”

I nodded my head, my voice catching in my throat as I sat up. She reached out and stroked my dreadlocks gently as my eyes scanned the room. I realized I had passed out on the couch in the living room. My lips were chapped, my throat was sore, my head was stuffy, and my muscles ached. I felt like crap.

Sighing, I swung my legs over the side of the couch. “Will you take me to the library?” I asked suddenly, clearing my throat, my voice raspy.

“What for?” Mrs. Listing asked, straightening the pillows on the other couch.

I shrugged. “Just wanted to look for some books,” I muttered, glimpsing at her from the side of my eye.

She paused, thinking. “Okay,” she said slowly, watching as I stood up.

“Lemme go get my shoes,” I said through a yawn, stretching my arms out above my head. I quickly headed up the stairs, Mrs. Listing's eyes on me the entire time.


“So, what book are you looking for?” Mrs. Listing questioned as she slowed down for a red light.

I shrugged. “Just books to occupy myself with, I guess.”

Mrs. Listing sighed, running her hand through her long brown hair. “Listen, Tom,” she began as she stepped on the gas pedal, “I'm sorry if Drew and I seem to be acting so hard on you,” she said gently, glancing at me. “We know things have been rough on you, I just want the best for you. For all of you.”

I nodded my head, staring at the blue carpeted floor of the car. “I know,” I said softly.

Mrs. Listing nodded her head, pulling through the driveway and coming to a halt, putting the car in park. The building in front of us was made of light-colored brick. The roof looked like it had been through hell. The door was rusted. The yellow lines which dictated parking spaces were fading. The only thing that looked decent was that the windows seemed to have been recently wiped down.

I sighed, unclicking my seatbelt. “Is it even open?” I asked, turning to Mrs. Listing.

She smiled, nodding. “I assume you don't come here often?”

I shrugged, letting myself out of the car. I slammed the door, turning back to the car.

“Listen, I'll be at the café if you need me, so just give me a ring when you're ready to come home.”

I nodded, giving a little wave as I watched Mrs. Listing's car rumble on down the road.

I didn't even bother to tell her I didn't have her cellphone number.