You come to the library like any other day, mind set on
getting through the inhuman volumes of required reading and essay-writing. As you
set down your book bag, you can't help releasing a mini sigh of relief, now
that the sharp pain in your shoulders has begun to fade. Like many others,
you try to fight back the increasing worry you feel as you rumble through your
stuff for two essential library items: your laptop charger, and (of course)
your headphones. You secretly high-five yourself on remembering to bring both.
As you lift your laptop screen, it flashes with a
subtle buzz to life. Fingers braced, you
watch it with angst, waiting for the second the mute button is ready to respond
(you're a master at this by now). You're satisfied at having evaded any
potentially life-scarring music explosions, even though you're pretty certain
you had nothing playing before you left home. Excited to play an amazing song
you recently discovered, you quickly plug in your headphones and open up YouTube.
You set the volume soft and low, aware that no headphones are perfect.
As it plays, it carries you away with it, and amidst the fully-packed
desks, you are truly alone and free. Each second that passes transforms the
building into a hearth of solace, and only a small part of you still
spatially aware could feel sorry for the others around you suffering the silence. It is so good, you decide then and there to
get through the entire recommended playlist.
Three hours later, you're ready to go. You lift your
headphones off your ears, only to realise that all along they had never been
fully plugged in.
And all around you are the soft sounds of Soko's 'We Might
Be Dead Tomorrow'. They fill the void, teasing ears that- willingly or unwillingly-would hear.
Yet no one complained.
Cathy
