shh! no talking in the library {linda&barbados}

Why are there no books on protein synthesis?

My fingers trailed along the spines of the books as my father's words echoed through my head. Go out, he said, after his five o'clock class ended and he was left to watch my mother on his own, you haven't left the house in days ever since summer started. Being forced out of my dark realm of scrap pieces of paper and half-used eraser nubs that is my room lead me to the library, the only other place I could imagine myself actually somewhat enjoy being.

Of course, I knew what my father really meant when he forced me out of the house. He was trying to encourage me to go out and meet some people, perhaps even finding a friend along the way. My father knew me better than anyone - that I was a social recluse who would rather spend my days tucked away in my room, my nose deep into whatever subject I had determined was interesting that week. The problem is my brain begins to enter shutdown mode when I'm not learning anything new. People were often boring, predictable. They just couldn't satisfy my urge to learn.

Shelves upon shelves of dictionaries, encyclopedias, textbooks lay in front of me, yet none stood out. I just wanted, needed something on protein synthesis. You'd think in a District known for it's research, you'd easily be able to find research on one of the most fundamental processes in cellular biology.

I sighed as I gave up, my arms returning to their sides.

You could always ask the Librarian, I thought.

No, don't be ridiculous, I thought back, let's try to avoid as much human activity as possible.

I sighed again as I looked over at the librarian seated at her desk. My hands trembled at the thought of approaching her and asking, a task that seemed so simple yet my body refused to do something, anything of normalcy.

Barbados. My dad's voice echoed in my head. It's a chance to grow.

He always had a way of convincing me, even without his physical presence.

My legs began to push themselves towards the librarian, despite the resistance from my brain telling me that oh no, this is dangerous. Abort mission. As the distance between myself and the librarian grew smaller and smaller, my hands began to tremble and I felt my face heat up. Rosacea never fails to make a situation awkward.

I approached the desk and forced a lopsided smile, awkwardly fixing my hands together in front of me. Be polite, my dad says in my head, say please and thank you.

"Hi," I stammer as I look at the girl. Somehow for a girl not much bigger than me, her presence terrified me as I looked her up and down. "Do you have any books on protein synthesis?"

I pause before I add, "please."