On Acquaintance

I went back to the library in the afternoon to try again entering on Goodreads Lactantius’ Death of the Persecutors.  I couldn’t see how but did see the blushing boy go out the door.  Not going to get any further with Goodreads I might as well log off to catch him on his way back.  Assuming he’d gone to the toilets, I didn’t see them where I thought they were and was catching sight of a sign where they might be when a woman, coming from there where was also a prohibited door, asked how to get into the study room.  I directed her to the door at the stairs and decided myself to leave, going down them.  He was coming up.  I scrutinised his face for fright at me.  All he had were two pink patches on the cheek bones.  It occurred he was the wrong boy, a mistake unlikely to be made since down to the unconscious, or over the weekend he’d decided to overcome his fear and had done so completely, also unlikely.  “Self-consciousness wears off on acquaintance,” I told.  He politely took a musical plug out his ear the better to hear.  I repeated.  He didn’t understand.  “You know how you get self-conscious,…”  “No,” he said, not in the least.  “Oh.  OK.”  Another person coming up the stairs passed between.  I proceeded down.  “On what?” he turned.  I didn’t repeat what was otiose.

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About johnbrucecairns

I'm a retired history teacher who's written for most of his life with a book readied for publication.
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