The Library

At the time I wore a plaid flannel over my t-shirt with jeans, black-rimmed glasses and a short beard. My choice in clothing was mostly arbitrary, just adequately plain for my taste. Since I could not be an indiscernible penguin among the rest of them, I settled for a thorough lack of distinctiveness.

While assimilated in dress, I found my transition to college life uneasy. Other than the natural beauty of the colorful leaves, which seemed to protect the campus under a glorious canopy, little else brought comfort. The first days were pock marked with awkward moments of small talk over trivialities, and the crowded cafeteria left little pleasure in eating, surrounded by gossip and inane banter. Arrival to my dorm room was frequently met with the distinct rhythmic pounding of my roommate's loft against the wall. Far from me to impose, I altered my itinerary accordingly, and found myself often at the library.

From dinner, my routine brought me directly to that familiar labyrinth of stacks, where I would stay until midnight. The space was serene and academic, and I would sometimes escape to meditation between volumes of classical literature. More than a computer screen I enjoyed the color and feel of the yellow pages at my lonely table hidden among the shelves. They were more seemly a canvas for transitions through time and space, whether observing Beowulf attack Grendel, or following Virgil through Hell. Anything transpiring in my dorm room held relatively little fascination.

Nonetheless, my studies brought more shame than pride as my natural aversion flung me from required reading whenever possible. I found the sheer duration of reclusive study did not impress professors at my level of efficiency. Their definition of efficiency differed from mine. So wild was my personal curriculum, assigned reading became little more than means of procrastination at the whim of peripheral authors, many of obscure, or even ill repute. But, my scandalous affair with words was not my only distraction...