The Dead Story of a Birthmark

Chapter 9: A Date in the Library

As I pedaled through the darkening night, the freezing wind blew on my arms and face. Students were leaving buildings as classes began finishing up. A few times, I nearly crashed into some students for the sole reason of them not paying attention. Even after avoiding an obstacle course of people, I was still a good few minutes away from the library– and even then I still had to lock my bike at a nearby station.

“Shit shit shit… sorry!” I yelled to the side as I cut off a large group. I couldn’t pay attention to their crude replies, so I continued pedaling to the extent of my ability. Once their annoyed yells faded in the distance, the library finally loomed into view. I glanced briefly at my phone to see that it was now six twenty-seven. It would be a miracle if she had waited patiently for almost thirty minutes, but even I knew she’s probably left already. Nonetheless, all I could do was hope.

After a final stretch of intense pedaling, I finally reached the closest bike station to the library. My cold, numb hands rustled with the keys as I sluggishly locked the bike to a metal bar. Afterward, I jogged to the front of the library while opening up my phone. “Hey, sorry for being so late! I’m waiting on the first floor of the library if you’re still here!” I texted Melissa. The automatic doors opened gracefully as I approached, allowing myself to bask in the warm air of the library. Alas, amongst the comfort of this atmosphere, it was clear that out of all of the patrons of the late night library, none of them was Melissa. Still, even with the shrivel of hope I had left, I breathed in confidently and sat on a lounge chair nearby the entrance.

Several minutes passed and not once did my phone buzz or the automatic doors open. The Sun was now completely set and the campus was lit up by the dim lamps and the glaring moon. The library got slightly colder than usual, probably due to the lack of life as people began to leave. Pessimistic thoughts flooded my mind as all sorts of possibilities came into view. She was probably here, but left when I didn’t show up! Or maybe she didn’t even come to the library in the first place because I was too late with my texts. These thoughts steadily corrupted my confidence, and my hopes eventually dwindled down to a nonexistent morsel. I checked the time to see that it was now six thirty-five and there was still no Melissa. There’s no way she would be waiting for this long, right? It’s bad enough that I was half an hour late, so why would she bother showing back up? Rather than giving up and returning to the dorms, I decided it best to scour the library and increase my chances of finding her. 

After a couple minutes of reassuring the stagnant automatic door, I forced myself onto my feet and quickly traversed the first floor, which was fairly open and easy to look through. Once I concluded she wasn’t here, I climbed up the stairs to the second floor, which is dedicated to life and social sciences majors. This is most likely the only floor to have books on anthropology, so if Melissa was still willing to study, she’d probably be here. Even with this fluttering hopeful thought, I quickly found there to be no sight of Melissa on this floor. So, even though it made no logical sense for her to be there, I moved my search to the third floor, which was where Flint and I found the Ghost of Brixton book. The nice lady  from Saturday was still there. Surprisingly, she recognized me.

“Oh, young man!” she smiled and gave a small wave. Upon noticing my worried expression, she asked, “Is there something wrong? I may be able to help.”

“Um– no thanks,” I smiled. “Just looking for someone… that’s all.” She furrowed her eyebrows and examined my face. 

“You’re awfully red. Why don’t you have a quick seat?” She kindly gestured to the nearby study area, which was barren. 

“I’m fine, thank you though,” I assured. “But– uh– maybe you can help me? Have you seen a girl walk through here recently? A brunette, specifically?” The kind lady sighed then giggled. 

“A girl, is it? No wonder you look so red.” She giggled again then scratched her head in thought. “No, I don’t believe I’ve seen a brunette walk through here— but you’ll find her, I assure you,” she encouraged after seeing my disheartened expression. “Go along now, I wish you luck on finding her,” she waved. I nodded in thanks and gave a quick, thorough search of the floor. 

Once I was sure that Melissa wasn’t here, I rushed to the fourth floor, which focuses on the Arts. Again, logically it would make no sense for her to be here, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. I ran around the bookshelves and the study section, avoiding disturbing some students’ reading. When I confirmed that Melissa was nowhere to be seen, I began going up to the fifth, and last, floor, which focuses on Philosophy. My exhaustion was clearly apparent at this point, as I had been running up the stairs and through the floors without taking any breaks. 

When I reached the floor, I wobbled over to the study session and plopped onto one of the chairs. My head slumped down towards my knees and I shut my eyes, sealing myself away from the world. Today has been so tiring, so utterly exhausting. My previous splurge of energy seemed to disappear so easily. I was so tired, in fact, that vague images of Sam Platt’s disfigured face crawled through my mind. Whatever strange past-vision that plagued me today seemed to be creeping back into the crevices of my psyche, causing me to drift in and out of consciousness.

Once I properly caught my breath and the crawling thoughts ceased, I depressingly walked over to the elevator and pressed the first floor button. It felt like an eternity to wait for the elevator doors to open, and even when I entered, the journey back down to the lobby felt even longer. This sense of defeat dragged me down so low that I could feel my heartbeat slowing to a near stop. It was hard to tell if it was my morning dizziness or my current disparity, but it was hard to keep my eyes open. Eventually, the doors opened to the lobby and I stepped out of the elevator.

“Marcus?” a female voice spoke from a distance. I looked in the direction the voice came from, finding it was Melissa. I almost couldn’t believe it at first, but after rubbing some sleep out of my eyes, I saw it was actually her.

“Melissa… Melissa! Hey!” I called loudly, instantly dropping my solemn attitude. I walked up to her with a giant smile on my face. “I was getting worried that I was too late. I hope I didn’t make you wait long?”

“Oh, I just got here. I was actually worried about the same thing,” she laughed, adjusting her bag hung over her shoulder. From her black shorts and school-colored sweatshirt, I easily deduced that she had just returned from practice. “Sorry about that! I volunteered to help store stuff away after practice and almost forgot about our study session today!” I waved away her apology and laughed back. 

“No worries, I almost did too.” Another quick scan of her made it clear that she had rushed over here. “Uh, let’s go to the second floor; some anthro books are there.” She nodded and followed me closely to the elevator. Similar to the sounds of our scurrying footsteps, my heart was beating out of my ribcage, making it hard for me to breathe. 

“Marcus? You’re not looking too good. Are you sure you want to study today?” she kindly asked. I waved away her worries reassuringly.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” I lied. In reality I felt incredibly sluggish ever since I got off my bike. “Plus, you got out of your way to rush over here, so I don’t wanna make this a waste of your time.”

“Oh don’t worry about that. I needed to prepare for our quiz anyway, so I needed time to study.”

“Alright great! Let’s go take the elevator.” I led her to the elevator like a tour guide and waited patiently for the clunky metal doors to open. As we waited, she told me a bit about her practice before she went to the library.

“We ran a few scrimmages because the coach wasn’t happy with the team chemistry. Well it’s because Sylvie Gruel always acts like the team captain and acts like a little b word whenever we ‘don’t spike the ball hard enough’ or ‘don’t jump higher’. She’s a nice girl outside of our team, but she doesn’t get teamwork’s social cues. You know what I mean? We were held a bit after the usual end of practice to run laps around the court since some of the girls got mad at each other. But I didn’t think it was THAT bad–”. The elevator doors finally opened and she continued her rant as we went up to the second floor; I’ve never realized how much of a talker she is. Of course, there have been very few times when I have talked to her, but it was comforting to finally experience how comfortable and sociable she is with everyone, including someone like me.

We sat beside each other with Anthropological texts and documents sprawled out in front of us. Melissa was leaning back in her chair and typing something on her laptop while I flipped through my written notes. The both of us were talking about general topics of our anthropology class, but never thoroughly reviewed anything.

“Can’t believe Professor Fisher is already going through the fifth chapter with us. It feels like we just started school a few weeks ago,” she commented. I nodded in tired agreement.

“I’d like to call him a good professor, but the things he says sometimes…” I sighed. I looked up from my notes to take a short stretch. “For whatever reason he hates me.” Melissa frowned as if to disagree, but her expression changed into immediate belief.

“Yeah I do notice that. He seems to always be on your case for the smallest things. Your friend as well too. About that, where is your friend? His name’s Flint, right? I was under the impression that he was going to study with us.” My heart dropped slightly when she asked this, but I did my best to mask my discomfort.

“Oh he’s… at the dorm,” I muttered. “Said he was busy with other work.” Desperately wanting to change the subject, I placed my notebook on the table with a random page about tribal traditions flipped open. “Here we are, what notes do you have about traditions?” Thankfully she followed suit and didn’t continue asking about Flint. 

As our study session continued it felt as though no progress was being made. All of the notes I had she already had, and all of the knowledge she knew I already knew. At certain points it was like listening to a constant echo. I couldn’t blame her, though; it’s not like the curriculum had been inherently difficult. Even though Dr. Fisher is constantly harsh against me and Flint, his course is overall incredibly easy. The notes he provides are fair and his homework is mostly vocab work, so studying is rarely ever needed. Not wanting to leave this study session in vain, I quickly thought of a conversation starter.

“So how’s the school year going for you so far?” I asked. “Balancing volleyball and school is one hell of a start to college life.”

“Ohh it’s good,” she briefly pondered without looking away from her laptop. “Honestly doesn’t even feel like I left high school.” I laughed awkwardly in agreement.

“I feel the same way! The only thing that’s different is that I don’t have to live with my dad anymore, and even then he hounds me with endless calls.” Melissa didn’t laugh or smile; she was too transfixed by her laptop screen. I waited a bit to see if she would respond, and when she didn’t, I thought of something else to prolong the one-way chat. “Umm do you dorm or commute?”

“Dorm.” Her one word reply was a sign that the conversation was falling apart, and soon I was running out of options. Every bit of my common sense yelled at me to just shut my mouth and go back to studying, but I was too desperate to comply.

“Er– did you find out anything else in the chapter?” This time she didn’t respond at all. I initially took this as a sign to start packing up, but after a few more moments of her typing silently, she finally replied

“Huh? Sorry I was texting someone.” After closer inspection, I noticed that she wasn’t typing on her laptop. Instead, her phone was propped against her laptop screen with the messages open. It seemed that she’s been having a completely different conversation with someone else, although I couldn’t read who.

“Oh, sorry… didn’t mean to bother you,” I faltered. After the tiring day today, her texting felt like a punch to the gut; it was as though she valued the conversation over the phone rather than the in-person conversation with me. I diverted my eyes from her and focused back onto the sprawled notes, but this time the words were jumbled and unrecognizable. It wasn’t until then that I realized that my eyes were welling up with tears. This startled me, since I didn’t think I was upset at all. I blinked ferociously to get rid of the tears, but once that proved to be futile, I started rubbing my eyes with my hands. No matter how much I tried, though, the tears would remain.

“Are you alright?” she asked. I turned my head away from her and continued rubbing away at my face. 

“Yeah–,” I exhaled exhaustedly. I could barely speak. Gross globs of mucus started choking me, impeding on my voice. Seeing her talk to someone else was just so upsetting… but why? Something about these tears… it’s more than just her text…

why am I crying so much?

“I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you,” she said, this time sounding slightly different. She, too, sounded upset. If anything, she sounded like she was crying too. I turned back to see her face, but my vision was still too blurry to see clearly.

“Y-you… you can’t…,” I cried. Can’t what? What do I even mean by that… What does SHE even mean by that? My crying eventually became full blown weeping. I tried covering my face to avoid embarrassment, but she, too, began weeping loudly. Before I could mutter another, confusing sentence, though, everything suddenly became clear. My eyes were no longer welling with tears, and that strange despair was no longer invading my space; I was still looking at my notes, and Melissa was still looking at her phone. It was as though nothing happened at all. “Are you okay?” I asked in disbelief. She looked away from her phone with a puzzled expression.

“Of course I am… are you?” she responded kindly. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out… What the hell is happening? I must’ve stared at her for too long, because she immediately began shuffling in her seat. “Is– is it that easy to tell?” she asked unexpectedly. Still, I couldn’t respond, so I just nodded instead. She sighed dismally and put her phone to the side. “Well I’ve been needing some advice recently… I’m wondering if you could help me?” My mind was doing somersaults; too many things have been happening all at once, but I did my best to keep my composure.

“Sure… what is it?” I asked. She angled her chair slightly towards me.

“Well… do you have a girlfriend, Marcus?” I couldn’t believe my ears. Is this a dream? Is she going to ask me out?

“Erm– no. I used to in high school, but that was a while ago,” I lied; I didn’t want to seem like a single loser, even though I quite literally am.

“Oh, well I think you could still help me.” She stared deeply into my eyes, causing my heart to beat heavily out of my chest. “How do you know… when a girl is into you?” It felt like I was having a heart attack; is this her asking? Is this a direct hint?

“Hm, well–,” I said, doing my best to control my breathing. “Guys don’t really get hints. They prefer a direct statement… or a compliment.” She was listening intently, waiting for more of my improvised advice. “So… it’s only really clear when a girl pretty much confesses her attraction… directly”. I partly crossed my fingers, hoping that what she says next will be a manifestation of my hopes.

“Okay… so you know Sean, right? Sean List?” she asked. Despite how kindly she asked, these words pierced my heart like a flaming knife.

“Oh… that burly jock dude? Yeah, I talk to him.” I clenched my fist underneath the table in pain and frustration.

“I figured. I saw you talking to him and his friend at the Friday night event last week. Long story short he’s in another one of my classes, and he’s really…” she blushed slightly while looking for the right words. “...well I’m interested in him.  Anyways I got his number that night and we’ve been texting for a bit… but I don’t know what to say to him.” Knowing where this is going, I finished her thought.

“...And you want me to tell him that you’re interested in him?” Euphoria lit up in her eyes. 

“Yes, could you? I’d appreciate it so much!” she smiled innocently again, but now it only filled me with contempt. I felt used and betrayed; she probably only agreed to the study session just to ask me for this favor.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t mind!” I exclaimed in a faux giddiness. The expression on her face seemed to lessen, as if releasing a large amount of tension.

“Okay, I feel so much better now, thanks again Marcus!” She put her phone away and focused back on her laptop. “So did you finish the last part of the notes last week?” she asked cooperatively. 

This time she was more engaging with the notes, and even began giving some good study material. However, as the session continued, I couldn’t help but repeat the conversation in my head. Her voice echoed mockingly through my head, only further feeding my growing frustration. This is the person you wasted time for? This is the girl that you’ve fawned over? This lying, disgusting, bitc–

“Ope! I have to go now!” Melissa exclaimed while glancing at her phone. “My roommate just came back and I completely forgot that I still have her binder.” She hastily gathered her things into her backpack and organized everything accordingly. “Sorry to cut it so short, but thank you for your help! I’ll see you next class.” Before I could speak– before I could even acknowledge what she said, she had already completely packed up and headed towards the stairs. I watched her open the door to the staircase and close it behind her as she hurried down; not once did she turn back. 

I sat motionless in my spot. Seeing her leave was both a relieving and depressing feeling deep in my stomach. The world around me was silent, as if I was inside a soundproof room. The first thing that broke this silence was my ringing phone placed on the table. I let it ring a few times before picking it up, discovering that it was my dad calling. For a moment I considered hanging up, but I decided to take the call anyway.

“Hey bud, what’s happening?” my dad asked, concerned. “I haven’t heard from you in a bit.” 

“It’s only been since Friday that we called last,” I said blankly.

“Oh yeah, huh,” my dad laughed. He audibly cleared his throat. “Well… anyways… you know what’s coming up… this weekend.” It took me a moment to understand what he was talking about, but then I finally remembered.

“Oh, yeah I remember…”. I was a bit hesitant, but it is an important father-son tradition. “So– um– are you going to pick me up this week?”

“I was actually going to ask you the same thing. I understand with this being your first year of college and everything… I wouldn’t want you to miss classes over something we can do at any time.” His voice trailed off as he said this.

“No, I want to go. Friday, right?”

“No, tomorrow, the fifteenth. Don’t tell me you forgot,” he joked.

“It almost seems like you forgot, considering you’re calling me to ask the night before,” I shot back.

“Touché,” he laughed. “Alright bud, I can pick you up tomorrow morning.”

“Actually, can you pick me up now?” I asked. My dad seemed a bit surprised by this.

“I guess I can, in a couple hours, but my work is in the opposite direction, I’d be picking you up at the earliest, eleven.” It didn’t take much consideration for me to respond.

“Yeah that’s fine. I’ll be packed up and ready.” My dad didn’t retort any further.

“Hm alright, I’ll call you when I’m nearby. I’ll–,” he was cut off by a hurried rambling in the background, presumably an assistant or doctor. I listened patiently as he engaged in the separate conversation. “Alright bud, I need to take care of this,” he said after a brief moment. “Like I said, I’ll call you. Love ya bud!” Before I could reply similarly he had already hung up the phone, leaving me in the deafening silence of the bodiless library.