Lou Dellaguzzo

Transference
Lou Dellaguzzo

At the entrance, I loiter five full minutes, preparing for my mission. Early in the fall semester, only a handful of students -- most of them foreigners -- visit the university library on a Saturday night. I noticed my first month here.

Across from the circulation desk, I spot the perfect chair. Brand new. Three times I walk around it -- retracing my steps on thick blue carpeting -- before forcing myself to sit. Three is always a magic number.

On my lap, I rest two heavy books. One for each leg, parallel. Each text is filled with self-stick notes. These are my notes. Crucial notes. The tiny pastel squares decorate every page. No, they don't decorate. They annotate.

When I look up, I see the circulation clerk has a red goatee and thick blond hair. A possibly serious mismatch. It's very attractive. But two shades of hair could mean trouble. Perhaps a difference of opinion between he and I. Him and me.

Still, I like the way his golden hair fans across his eyes. They're large brown eyes. Some people would call them cow eyes. But I don't care for that image. When he thinks my attention wanders elsewhere, I can see the boy staring. As if I'm not used to being looked at. I know my behavior attracts attention.

 

***

So, I'm pulling another shift at the circ desk -- all fucked up on some weed -- when this tall, skinny kid with curly black hair comes in. He sits right across from me. But only after circling his chair for fuckin' ever. I mean forwards and backwards.

Bet he thinks he's being subtle or something. But I know he's watching me with those blue eyes of his. They kind of blaze at me like flashlights.

The kid's dressed all in black. His long raincoat's way too warm for the weather. But sexy. Like a Goth. And he's got a couple books in his hands stuffed with different colored notes.

I watch the kid take two more books from his bag. Plain books. He hoofs it to my desk, his long legs hissing against the black raincoat. The closer he gets, the bluer his eyes become.

***

At the circulation desk, I hand the clerk my library card, avoiding his eyes. But I can see his smile.

"Hey there, Josh." The clerk greets me as if he knows me. As if we were friends. His words sound lazy, stumbling past his lips. And then he says: "My name's Gus." From the corner of my eye, I see he's about to extend his hand. But he pulls back fast and keys my name into his computer instead.

"So. How can I help you, Josh?" he asks.

"Here's what I'd like to do," I say. "It's very simple: I want to exchange these two library books -- with all the self-stick notes -- for the same exact books I bought on the Internet. They're brand new books."

On his desk, I place my two books next to the library's copies. "This way, I don't have to transfer all my notes," I explain, so the trade makes perfect sense.

Now that I've delivered my speech, I can look at him -- at Gus -- directly. His large brown eyes and small nose appear juvenile above his dense, rust-colored goatee. Thick blond hair -- tousled every which way -- seems to grab at the air. Play in the air. 

Meanwhile, "Uh huh," is all Gus has to say to my carefully detailed proposition. It hardly sounds like an okay. He tries to make eye contact with me. But I'm upset and won't let him.

"Why don't you just check the books out again?" he asks me. His lazy, open smile shows small white teeth. Then he tells me I can check out the books all semester long, until I don't need them. As if I didn't know that already.

"You're missing my point." I explain. "I want to keep the books. Make them mine. Just as they are -- with all my notes edging the pages." Gus keeps tapping his pencil on the desk. It weakens my focus. "So, like -- why don't you just transfer the notes?" he says in a twangy, resonant voice.

The question stalls me. Not that I didn't expect it, haven't prepared for it. Still, I don't answer. Instead, I look at him -- at Gus -- as if he said something ridiculous. But why can't I answer?

***

Something about this kid Josh makes me feel totally reckless. Something more than his pale skin, his long nose that points down a little at the end. I watch his jaw muscles go all aerobic. Two moles sit on his chin dark as chocolate chips. His puffy chapped lips keep rubbing against each other like they're chewing on words.

"Hey man. Smile back at me," I say, thinking -- Fuck, I'm too fried. So big deal. I only want to see the kid smile. "Come on man," I coax him, showing him my own big, Texas-size ear-to-ear. "Won't cost you a thing."

Josh looks confused. "Smile?" he says, like I asked him to jump off a cliff or something. But he gives in, smiles in spite of himself. A real shy one. But definitely in shooting range.

"That's a little better," I razz him. Josh has a wicked crooked grin -- double dimples on each cheek. But those cute swirls don't last long. "About the books," Josh says, getting all serious, tapping on the hard covers.

"Yeah. The books." I know I'm gonna bum him out. "My supervisor's gone for the night. But I'm like ninety-nine percent sure you can't make the switch."

"Why not?" he says.

I can see the kid's starting to lose it. He grabs my desk as if a strong wind might blow him over or something. So I let him down easy: I tell him it would be really difficult if students could trade books with the library whenever they wanted. The trade-ins would have to get labeled for cataloguing. And then magnetized for security. That's a lot of work for the same books, I say. "I mean, it's not like you're donating new stuff the library doesn't have."

Wow! Josh's eyes. Fuckin' amazing. They turn violet on me -- like a pair of mood rings or something. Now he goes all hangdog. He bites his lower lip so hard, I can feel it. To show my concern, I stand up, lean forward. Josh's mouth kind of drops when he looks up because I'm six-seven or something.

"You could come back tomorrow," I say. "When a supervisor's on duty. I might be wrong." I smile, sure I'm right.