I'm never alone, but at the same time, I'm always alone.
I'm never alone, because for most of the day, I'm simply sitting in a rather empty, dark corner in a building that people almost never leave. There are always blazer-clad students studying and librarians with trolleys and all that. And then, as well, when they're all gone, I still have books – I have the whole literature section, the whole reference section, as well as the paperback fiction and the dictionaries and atlases. All of it is here, although I sometimes have to ignore the fact that I've read everything at least once and just pretend that this essay or poem is completely brand new to me.
I'm always alone, though, because I am. It's like I'm in a bubble, or on the right side of some one-way glass, the kind they put on some fish tanks. I can see into their world, but they can't see out, into mine. Some might take advantage of this. Some might strip down naked and run around, insane. They might take peoples' books and mess up their hair, they might write cryptic messages with alphabet soup or magnetic poetry. But, well, I'm Alistair. I read, and I dream of music. I'll sing to myself sometimes, but often, it feels just a bit too silly – even if nobody can hear me, I mean, it just sounds stupid. So, I hum. I wonder if I'm forgetting the songs, sometimes, if they're evolving and shifting in my mind and one day I might hear someone playing How Soon is Now or Sheila Take a Bow and I'll be shocked to realise that the songs I've been humming and awkwardly singing are nothing like the way Morrissey sang them. I'm singing now, though. A little abashedly, it's true, but even I couldn't miss today's newspaper headlines.
Panic on the streets of London,
Panic on the streets of Birmingham...
I can't believe I died before ever seeing the Smiths live. And now, I'm just stuck in this half-life. They've broken up now, yes, but even if they hadn't, I'm not sure I'd be able to physically go.
I do, sometimes, wish I could disappear. The teenage years are never good, and I'd spent so much of them wanting to grow up. The fact that I never will is ridiculous, and oblivion is beginning to sound incredibly inviting.
A girl rounds the corner, dark hair and a Wexford blazer. I think she'll glance over me, or the place where I'm meant to be, and continue browsing the shelves. But no – instead, she looks directly at me. And I can tell she heard me singing.