ikissdhimbck | Night time in Green Lake

She struck a match and lit the oil lamp near the bookshelves, slowly and deliberately adjusting the wick so just enough light was cast upon the darkened room. When finished, she took the heavy glass lamp in one hand and gathered her skirts in the other, stepping to the shelves and crouching down to a bottom shelf where she rooted around the back and came up with a dusty brown paperback with a crude drawing of a man on horseback, bandanna obscuring his face, gracing the cover. Toting the book and the lamp to a chair in the corner of the room, she sat down and began to read.

The ochre pages put up a great rustlin’ ruckus as she flipped them in the hushed room.

After a time she closed the book and sat quiet, eyes fixed on some mysterious point in front of her. In her mind’s eye she saw cowboys racing to great adventures and heists, but just as quickly did they race to the noose.

I wonder, what kind of life would that be?

Her eyes refocused on the small table near the chair where she had set the oil lamp. A healthy stack of books rested there, the gold foil lettering on their leather covers picking up the soft light. Katherine smiled at the book on top: a collection of poems by Edgar Allan Poe.

Once again her eyes wandered across the room to a small closet near the front door. She stared for quite some time before she was able to eventually motivate herself to rise from her seat and make her way slowly across the room.

She stood before the closet door, not moving. Her eyes were fixed on the handle.

Go ahead, she whispered to herself. What’s the harm?

Opening the door, she tried to make her way in. She was met with an armful (and a face-full) of heavy winter coats.

She laughed, feeling every bit as foolish as she thought she would. She closed the closet door and shook her head, scolding herself.

It was probably just a dream.

But the lingering hand on the doorknob and the small stack of books rebuking her from behind told her otherwise.

She would settle back in her chair and continue reading, every now and again casting furtive glances at the closet door, until she went to bed that night.

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