La Ricerca delle Parole
Colin likes to hang around in the school library after the last bell. The sterility of its plain walls, sharp angles, and clear corners have a calming effect on his convoluted mind. Over the past months, the library has become a place where Colin can escape from the expectations and demands put upon him by the friends of his former self.
Sometimes it's all Colin can do to lean against the towering shelves and breathe, concentrating on each breath as he was taught to do in rehab. In. Out. In. Out. When he feels more playful, he'll watch people from between the shelves. Amy and her girlfriends - Colin still can't remember their names, and suspects they're all secretly clones of each other - sit by the window. The goth/nerd table, where Ephram sits whenever he talks to a squirrel-ish looking blond, is, of course, near the computers. To do homework or just listen to his headphones, Ephram always chooses the table between the K-M and N-P fiction shelf. Colin has memorized every book on the Ke- to Kl- shelf.
Colin eventually gets bored watching Ephram - it's not like the guy does anything besides sit and maybe read, and Colin can watch him do that in class. He wanders aimlessly between the labyrinth of bookshelves, purposely forgetting which books are kept where so he'll always be surprised at whatever he pulls out. He likes the feel of the old hardbacks under his fingers, their covers smooth and worn, their pages yellow and musty- smelling when he opens them. He's not so fond of the occasional romance novel; their creased spines and torn covers remind him of cheap, worn out prostitutes. Photography and art books make him feel intimidated and elegant; science books just confuse him.
His favorite books, Colin has discovered, are poetry books. He likes their possibility, their inherent serendipity. He likes knowing that he can pull one out and open it to any page and simply read, without having to know the difference between the Cynics and the Stoics, Newtonian physics versus Einstein's physics, or what happened between Scarlett and Melanie the chapter before.
On this afternoon, The Art of Drowning catches Colin's eye. On the bus home from the ski trip, Amy told him about the last day at the lake, when she thought, for a brief moment, that Colin had drowned. Colin now wonders if he wishes Colin the First really had drowned that day, but thinks that it's like wondering about the death of a famous person he's never met. In the end, it doesn't really matter.
The corners of the book are sharp, the cover soft tones of yellow and blue. Colin flips to a poem in the back and lets the words slither across his vision. You are so beautiful and I am a fool / to be in love with you / is a theme that keeps coming up. The image of slender fingers pressing against impassive ivory juxtaposes itself against the text; Colin blinks and catches a glimpse of a crooked grin with perpetually chapped lips on the insides of his eyelids.
When he finishes the poem, Colin closes the book slowly and brings it to his chest. He stares up at the ceiling tiles and aches, the last lines echoing in his mind without the aid of a post-it note. We are all so foolish / so damn foolish / we have become beautiful without even knowing it.
Colin realizes suddenly why he comes to this place that is haunted with the ghosts of words left unwritten, unspoken. He wants to find the words that fit him, that will cover him and protect him. He's looking for the words to tell Colin the First's old life good-bye.
Colin likes to hang around in the school library after the last bell. The sterility of its plain walls, sharp angles, and clear corners have a calming effect on his convoluted mind. Over the past months, the library has become a place where Colin can escape from the expectations and demands put upon him by the friends of his former self.
Sometimes it's all Colin can do to lean against the towering shelves and breathe, concentrating on each breath as he was taught to do in rehab. In. Out. In. Out. When he feels more playful, he'll watch people from between the shelves. Amy and her girlfriends - Colin still can't remember their names, and suspects they're all secretly clones of each other - sit by the window. The goth/nerd table, where Ephram sits whenever he talks to a squirrel-ish looking blond, is, of course, near the computers. To do homework or just listen to his headphones, Ephram always chooses the table between the K-M and N-P fiction shelf. Colin has memorized every book on the Ke- to Kl- shelf.
Colin eventually gets bored watching Ephram - it's not like the guy does anything besides sit and maybe read, and Colin can watch him do that in class. He wanders aimlessly between the labyrinth of bookshelves, purposely forgetting which books are kept where so he'll always be surprised at whatever he pulls out. He likes the feel of the old hardbacks under his fingers, their covers smooth and worn, their pages yellow and musty- smelling when he opens them. He's not so fond of the occasional romance novel; their creased spines and torn covers remind him of cheap, worn out prostitutes. Photography and art books make him feel intimidated and elegant; science books just confuse him.
His favorite books, Colin has discovered, are poetry books. He likes their possibility, their inherent serendipity. He likes knowing that he can pull one out and open it to any page and simply read, without having to know the difference between the Cynics and the Stoics, Newtonian physics versus Einstein's physics, or what happened between Scarlett and Melanie the chapter before.
On this afternoon, The Art of Drowning catches Colin's eye. On the bus home from the ski trip, Amy told him about the last day at the lake, when she thought, for a brief moment, that Colin had drowned. Colin now wonders if he wishes Colin the First really had drowned that day, but thinks that it's like wondering about the death of a famous person he's never met. In the end, it doesn't really matter.
The corners of the book are sharp, the cover soft tones of yellow and blue. Colin flips to a poem in the back and lets the words slither across his vision. You are so beautiful and I am a fool / to be in love with you / is a theme that keeps coming up. The image of slender fingers pressing against impassive ivory juxtaposes itself against the text; Colin blinks and catches a glimpse of a crooked grin with perpetually chapped lips on the insides of his eyelids.
When he finishes the poem, Colin closes the book slowly and brings it to his chest. He stares up at the ceiling tiles and aches, the last lines echoing in his mind without the aid of a post-it note. We are all so foolish / so damn foolish / we have become beautiful without even knowing it.
Colin realizes suddenly why he comes to this place that is haunted with the ghosts of words left unwritten, unspoken. He wants to find the words that fit him, that will cover him and protect him. He's looking for the words to tell Colin the First's old life good-bye.