Uncharacteristically You

It's Friday. Nine thirty in the evening, on a Friday. And I'm stuck working in the library of a college campus. Sure the pay is decent, I was one of the three applicants that knew the dewy decimal system, and was still able to keep my day job at North's community center (even if said friend was a pompous ass eighty percent of the time), but I was never one for reading.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. I hope there aren't any late drop offs so I could get off on time for once. One of my nightly duties was to check the drop box before I left for the night and make sure the box was emptied and texts put in their proper place before he locked up; which I had done right after locking the building's automatic doors.

I had been slowly working my way through the carts of returned books one floor at a time, but as fate would have it, as I walked out of the elevator I heard the "thunk!" of a book hitting the metal bottom of the accursed bin. Swearing under my breath I turned to the first cart of four that belonged on the ground level, and added a mental post-it note to grab the deposited book before heading out.

Forty-five minutes later the cart was empty, and I felt almost justified to burn the next book I saw on anatomy and physiology. Grabbing my bag from behind the counter I walked to the return bin, unlocked the lid and reached in. Expecting a full sized hard cover text book, I instead held a jacketless novel. The spine read "The Da Vince Code".

"Why would a personal book be given to this library." I wondered as I trailed my tan fingers over the worn edged of the cover. "This place is just for research texts and campus required reading lists."

I opened the front cover hoping to find any indication of whom it might belong to, but was met with a poorly sketched stick figure on an otherwise blank page; so I turned to the back. What I found made my brows crease and a huff escape my lips as I ran a finger over the writing, smudging it.

"You should totally email this person! ;P jklfrsti1709 "

After another sigh I slipped the book into my bag. I'll ask North about it in the morning; or Sandy, whoever I see first. And as an afterthought- why would someone leave an email address if it's not their own?

Saturday is my favorite day of the week. It is the day I get to unwind and paint. Monday through Friday from nine in the morning to seven in the evening my friends slash coworkers, and I devise lesson plans gather needed supplies and tutor children in trouble subjects.

I stick with what I'm good at- mostly simple math, and history. I can handle a few letters thrown in with the numbers, but I'm pushing thirty and don't "see the need to go back to school, myself" as I often say.

Nicholas St. North, is the founder of the community center, and one of my best mates, he calls it the Pole. He and his wife Anna keep the rest of the group running smoothly. North, as we like to call him, has slim to no involvement in the paperwork of the Pole. "I am much more hands on, papers are stifling- but the children! They are wonderful!" Needless to say if it weren't for Anna, the Pole would never have taken off like it did. She loves the busy work, and North loves working with his hands. He holds a sculpting class on Saturdays while I do my painting one. Both groups of children always are filled to the brim with excitement when they enter our respective rooms, and leave either covered clay or splattered with paint.

Lastly are Kozmotis 'Koz' Pitchiner, and his boyfriend Sanderson 'Sandy' Mansnoozie. They are the real tutors. Monday's Koz helps Anna with the permission slips for North's and my weekend classes. Wednesday's are for maths: calculus, geometry, and anything I don't know; and Friday's he tutors sciences: biology and chemistry. Sandy handles the book keeping and donations for the Pole, and is also the appointed babysitter for North during his Saturday sculpting classes.

I hear my alarm beeping stretch my arms over my head and crack my back. It's 6:45 in the morning and I want to roll back over and skip back to dreamland. But instead I roll out of bed and trudge to the bathroom. The reflection looking back is one I almost didn't recognize. Wavy salt and pepper hair was matted to one side of my head while the other looked like an electrocuted mess, the stubble itched, and there was a white line of dried spit on the left side of my face that almost reached my ear. I must have been more tired than I thought, I looked a right mess.

Reaching to turn on the hot water of the shower, I turned to the sink to ready my toothbrush before jumping through a quick, blissfully ungodly hot spray to wash the library smell away and rid myself of the stubble. Then it's time to dress, a plain dark brown tee and trademarked paint stained jeans with old black sneakers, and tame what I can of my hair by tying it back, even if only the top half seems to stay in the band. Next is to bramble into the kitchen and toast up a bagel with honey.

As I finish breakfast and down the last of my juice my phone vibrates and beeps with an incoming call.

"What's up, North?" I ask while turning the key, locking the apartment door.

"Good morning Aster! Do not be forgetting about meeting after classes. We are going over the renovations!" North exclaims, as boisterous as always. The Pole's interior was finally going to get a proper paint job, and Sandy and I were in charge of making it as unique as possible.

"I won't forget, been lookin' forward to it since Anna brought it up."

"Good, good. Now there is matter of favor…"

I knew what he was going to ask, he did the same thing every Saturday so sighed though my smirk, "I'll pick you up something packed with real sugar, mate. Don't you worry."

"Ah! You know me well, my friend. It is much appreciated. I love my Anna, but I miss real cookies."

We shared a laugh and said our goodbyes, as I unlocked and climbed into the vehicle. She was an older jeep, with fading red paint and had seen me through many a situation-My art major, North and Anna's wedding, the Pole, and two truly bodgy relationships.

About two blocks from the Pole there is an old family owned coffee shoppe, and it is to die for. Stopping there on Saturdays has become a tradition, and the workers know me on sight. Today was no exception, walking in I got a smile and small wave from the owner's wife, a right good sheila who always wore a smile. Thankfully there was no line at a quarter 'til eight, so I was able to walk right up and place the order.

"One tall dark roast with a splash of milk, two pumpkin spice lattés, and a half dozen of your chocolate chip cookies please ma'am."

"I'm amazed that friend of yours doesn't get cavities after all these cookies!" She says with a laugh. I hand her the money and have a seat near the counter to wait. It's a real cozy place, all dark woods and deep earthy hues, mostly reds, browns, coppers, and greens; with string lights hedged all over the ceiling rafters. She calls the order number and I thank her again, wishing her a good day as I walk back to the Jeep with a small sack and a tray full of glorious caffeine, more than ready to start my Saturday.

Opening the door to my classroom I found Sandy setting up the brush cups, and aprons for the sprogs, I nodded a thanks and handed him his drink and he grabbed a cookie from the bag, grinning as he took a bite. Setting down my bag I readied the easels with paper and cups of water before turning to the large cabinet of paints and unlocking it to get out whatever colors I felt like using today.

North came in soon after, his excitement about the upcoming renovations becoming contagious as he rattled on about how he'd like everything to look, and how honored he was that Sandy and I agreed to tackle it for him.

"This will be monumental! I cannot believe this is finally happening for us!" He actually gushed, jumping from foot to foot like a junior high girl. I shit you not. Sandy shifted across my desk and handed him his latté and the bag of cookies, subsequently knocking off my bag and spilling its contents to the floor. They stooped to gather the items while I took out some blue, yellow, orange, and pink paints to start filling even more cups to line the easels. There was a knocking behind me; Sandy signed "I didn't know you read this genre." The book from the night before was laid before him.

"I don't. It was left in the drop box last night."

"So you stole it? You could get fired for that."

"I didn't steal it; it doesn't even belong to the library. I'm just keeping it with me so I won't forget to bring it back with me Monday. Maybe find the person it belongs to."

"Have you messaged this person yet?" North asked.

"No, and I don't think I'm going to."

"But you must! It is like having a pen pal, yes?"

I scoffed as I poured the paints, "Why would I e-mail a student? That's just askin' for trouble, you galah." Sandy huffed his silent laugh and took the filled cups to their respected places. The Russian tapped his watch and left with a smile and wave, signaling the calm before the storm: 8:55 AM.

I sighed and gabbed up the bag and stuffed the book back in, then shoved it onto the top most shelf in the cabinet for safety. Sandy leaned against my desk with a small smile and signed "Would it be so bad to just message them to let them know you have it? They might be missing it." Then walked off to unlock the doors for the day.