driven his car in a few days. It was an old green Jeep Cherokee. It smelled like an old car, unsurprisingly. Jerome had offered to buy him a nicer car, but he didn’t want a new one. The car was well suited for someone who didn’t like to drive and lived close to New York City. The mayor of New York City didn’t like people to use cars in his city, and Nathan was happy to oblige.
The library was not very crowded for a Sunday morning. It was a little after eleven o’clock when Nathan arrived. There had been story time for the little kids early in the morning, but that over. Children usually got up earlier than teenagers.
Nathan found his way to his favorite spot on the second floor. There was a table between two bookshelves that was easy to find, but out of the way of general traffic. He explained this to Mrs. Buchanan once, who asked him to move an armchair to the area as well. The armchair was where she could usually be found if she was at the library. No one had commented on the rearrangement, though Mrs. Buchanan had instructed him to tell anyone who asked that it was good for the ‘feng shui’ of the building.
Mrs. Buchanan was sitting in her armchair when Nathan arrived. She had a cup of tea next to her, resting on a side table. A passerby who didn’t know her might think of her as an old lady who was confused with where she was. Little did they know that Mrs. Buchanan was merely soaking in her community.
“What are you doing here on such a nice day?” she asked. Her often sharp words with Nathan were said in a joking manner. She spoke with a smile on her face.
“I have finals in a week. There will be plenty of time to be outside when those are over,” he replied.
“I don’t think you’ll get much studying done on a day like this, but I do enjoy your company. How was your weekend? Did you say goodbye to your little girlfriend?” She took a sip of her tea. The tea was Scottish Afternoon , her favorite brand. Many people, including the librarian who had brought her the tea on that particular day, assumed Mrs. Buchanan liked it because she was from Scotland. Mrs. Buchanan once told Nathan that she wanted to tell the librarian that such an assumption was racist, but she didn’t want her to stop bringing it.
“Weekend was fine, thanks. I did, and she is on the other side of the Atlantic now,” Nathan said, with a devil-may-care attitude.
Mrs. Buchanan picked up on Nathan’s peculiar tone. “Did something happen? Teenage girls can be very funny about goodbyes.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” He didn’t want to be rude to his friend, but he didn’t want to tell her about it anymore than he wanted to tell Griffin. Mrs. Buchanan would provide an objective view on his relationship if he chose to tell her, but Nathan tried to bury himself in his studies instead.
Studying became much harder than anticipated. The combination of restless sleep, warm weather, and his friend doing her crossword puzzle in a more comfortable chair than his had Nathan quite distracted. He also wasn’t sure how hard he needed to study anyway. He was a good test taker and had a firm grasp of the material.
The constant glances at Mrs. Buchanan did not go unnoticed. “Do you have something to say or are you just procrastinating?” she asked, as they made unexpected eye contact for what seemed like the tenth time that morning.
“Just procrastinating.” He put his head down.
“Look somewhere else or I won’t finish my crossword puzzle,” she said.
“You probably won’t anyway,” he replied without lifting his head up to see her reaction.
Someone else might have taken offense to a jab from a boy more than sixty years her junior. But Mrs. Buchanan was not an average person. She had often expressed that she enjoyed Nathan’s company because he, unlike many people who spoke with her, did not seem preoccupied with asking her if she needed something. And he didn’t tell her stories of other old people he knew
Ilene Cooper, Amanda Harvey (illustrator)