Page 98 of I Am the Messenger

I close my eyes.

I clench them shut.

Soon I stop everything and say, "I'm sorry, Audrey." I turn away. "I didn't know what I was doing. I'm..." And the words stop now, too. They cut themselves down before it's too late, and the two of us stand in the kitchen.

We both have blood on our lips.

She doesn't want to feel that way about me, and I can accept that, but I wonder if she'll ever know that no one will love her as hard as I do. She wipes the blood from her mouth, and I say again how sorry I am. Audrey is as gracious as ever and takes the apology, explaining that she just can't do that sort of thing with me. I think she'd rather do it without any meaning or truth. Just what it is, without the risk of any of that. If she doesn't want love from anyone, I have to respect that.

"Don't worry, Ed," she says, and she means it.

One great thing is that Audrey and I are always okay. Somehow, we manage it. It doesn't seem to matter what happens. I consider this fact for a moment, and to be perfectly honest, I wonder how long it can possibly last. Surely not for

ever.

"Give us a smile, Ed," she says later, when she's leaving.

I can't help it.

I give her one.

"Good luck with the spades," she says.

"Thanks."

The door closes.

It's nearly twelve now, and I put on my shoes and head for the library. I still feel stupid.

Now it's true that I've read a lot of books, but I bought them all, mainly from secondhand bookshops. The last time I actually used a library, they still had big long catalog drawers. Even at school, when the computers came in as stock standard, I still used the drawers. I liked pulling out the card of an author and seeing the books listed.

When I walk into the library, I'm expecting an old lady behind the counter, but it's a young guy, about my age, with long, curly hair. He's a bit of a smart mouth, but I like him.

"You got any of those cards?" I ask him.

"What kind of cards? Playing cards? Library cards? Credit cards?" He's enjoying himself. "What exactly do you mean?"

I can tell he's trying to make me look uneducated and useless, though I don't really need his help. "You know," I explain to him, "the cards with all the writers and authors and that."

"Ohh," and he laughs fully now. "You haven't been in a library for a long time, have you?"

"No," I say. Now I really feel uneducated and useless. I might as well wear a sign that says Total Dropkick on it. I act on it. "But I've read Joyce and Dickens and Conrad."

"Who are they?"

Now I have the upper hand. "What? You haven't read those guys? You call yourself a librarian?"

He acknowledges me now with a devious smile. "Touche."

Touche.

I can't stand that expression.

Nonetheless, the guy becomes a lot more helpful now. He says, "We don't use those cards anymore--it's all on the computer. Come on."

We go over to the computers and he says, "Right, give me an author."

I stutter because I don't want to tell him one of the people on the Ace of Spades. They're mine. I give him Shakespeare.