She walked into the library disturbing the peace and serenity of the place. Her bag jostled on her back, and her shoulders ached from carrying the unfamiliar backpack. This was all new to her, returning to school, that is. She hadn’t been in a college for over 15 years and now she was returning as a brand new student. It was all unfamiliar territory and the disturbance she was causing in the library felt right somehow. There were young students studying in every nook and cranny and she realized she was lucky to find herself a seat at all.
The library reminded her of a museum. Boldly patterned carpeting covered the floor, red, yellow, and green colors stared back at her as she walked to the open seat she had spotted. Dark polished wooden tables were located throughout. The arched windows brought in so much light, uncharacteristic to her of most libraries that always seemed dark and musty. The library had more than one room and she wandered the path, keeping her eyes on that carpet not wanting to be noticed. It was one thing to say she was returning to college at middle age, but it was another thing to actually do it.
She sat down trying not to sigh, now what? She was four hours early for class, but she knew she wouldn’t get any writing done at home. There was far too much to distract her. The only thing she could hear in the library was the occasional crinkle of an old book being opened, or a page being turned. Sometimes footsteps would disturb the peace, much like her own just did. A bag being unzipped, and then re-zipped, all these noises soothed her. Then she pulled out her own laptop and plugged it into the table, pleased that she wasn’t going to have to worry about her laptop going dead and soon she was adding some quiet noise to the library. The tapping of her fingers against the laptop keyboard were much louder than she expected. She imagines that someone else reading their book is listening to that noise and disturbed by it. The noise of the keyboard soothes her however, as writing is what she came here to do.
She took her time writing letting the words come to her. She paused briefly to evaluate what she had written. There was no plot, no true ending, just a brief descriptive piece that she wanted to work on. She continued this way for several minutes more letting the time escape her. She stopped again after this brief exercise in writing, she knew she’d be ready to start working again. The bells of the clock tower chimed in the distance as though sensing her thought. She was ready to start class, but was class ready for her?