“Motionless”, Rachel Shkolnik ‘23

by Rachel Shkolnik she/her ‘22Motionless My rooms were crowded with people as they walked in and out. Ding, ding, ding. e bell rang with every swing of the grand old oak door. ere was always company around to give me some life and purpose. Swarming tables, gazing eyes in my aisles. Children pushing their toy trucks around while their teenage siblings would sit in the corner, snuggled up in a blanket, diving into their favorite stories. But now it is all gone, as my purpose has seemed to vanish. I stand with my tall walls of ancient I stand with my tall walls of ancient volumes, though now used as decoration to volumes, though now used as decoration to set the scene. e streets of the town are no longer full with children chasing after their toys while their parents yell for them to come home as they once used to be. I long for the days where the community moms would set up gatherings here and host their book clubs while the children roamed the isles. But this world has no place for me, with everyone’s pockets being lled with easier communication and more information than I could ever give. I have no raison d’etre. Knowledge, ideas, stories. ey cover each Knowledge, ideas, stories. ey cover each inch of my shelves. e bookcase with its inch of my shelves. e bookcase with its inky treasures is adorned in one of my quiet rooms with an easy sense of solitude. It sits in the far corner now as the wood started to rot; it had not been touched by a small and scrawny hand in so long. A mantlepiece, one of reclaimed spruce, stands by the checkout desk. Upon it is an antique clock, which tells a story of softness with its curved wood and smooth edges. ere always used to be a re there, forever burning. A camp re smell used to travel across my aisles. All the dust in my air has settled now, All the dust in my air has settled now, laying on the ground, on the stories, on the laying on the ground, on the stories, on the shelves. I await January 2nd of every year when the librarian comes in and wipes my windows so I can take in the light. She sometimes even cracks them a little, letting the fresh air sweep in and giving me a little company. e light and air make me feel a little less lonely, less empty. e sun's rays dance around my room, letting me discover the books that had been hidden away for so long. Upon my hand-carved shelves are the rainbow spines of a banquet of books; a chorus of them, each ready to sing their own songs. e air lifts the dust particles off my elegant books, allowing their smooth and unique covers to be again seen. e slight breeze even makes the bell on the edge of my front door ring; even a little sound makes me glee. When the sun dies, and the breeze When the sun dies, and the breeze leaves, I feel abandoned once more. leaves, I feel abandoned once more. Nothing ever stays joyful here for long. e slight movement in the air is gone, the dust particles once again settle, and the darkness overcomes as it was before. ere used to be a time when all the ere used to be a time when all the neighborhood children would come as they peeked through my windows, ipped through my pages, and ran down my aisles. Whispers traveled through the corridors; children and adults pointed to every book, taking them out and always putting them in the wrong place when they nished. Oh, how that annoyed me, not putting the books where you found them, but how I miss it now. e scurry of the parking lot as cars tried to get in and out all day long. e constant piles of books being checked out and returned… e movement is what I miss the most. e movement is what I miss the most. e sound of carts rolling and footsteps padding. e rhythm of children's legs swinging as they sat in their chairs, the shuffling of books, scribbling of pens… All I have left now is the sun’s rays and All I have left now is the sun’s rays and the slight breeze that comes every year. And the rest is still. Motionless. A kid, startling me with his presence, A kid, startling me with his presence, slides his fragile ngers through the crack of my window, using his hands to try to pull himself up to see what is inside. His eyes marvel in the sight of my treasures, providing me a sliver of hope that maybe, I won’t be so lonely anymore. He quickly let’s go of the window and skips away. I hope to see him again.