Entomology: Part 2

She sways up to the desk, like a ladder in a windstorm, and starts stroking the shaft of my thermos.

“I’ve got a problem,” she says.

“Alright,” I say.

And then there was a pause.

“What, uhh, what is — what is the problem?”

“Something to break your peace and quiet,” she says. She leaned across the information desk.

“I uhh, I bet you break more than that.”

I didn’t quite know what I meant by that, but it sounded really convincing — it seemed to fit well in her general ethos. I pulled a cigarette from my pocket for good measure before remembering I was in a library, and also that formaldehyde is probably really flammable.

“I’m looking to get my hands around a specimen,” she said.

“Right, um, er, uh.”

“See I got this theory about a cephalopod’s beak. If I can show that it was made to crack this bug’s nut, I can prove that this squid used to get cozy with a particular coastline, savvy?”

“I’ll let you know when you’ve got my attention,” I said.

“Anurida maritima. Sounds like Portuguese for I love you, don’t it?”

“I — I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re more of a bug man, right? Watching a couple pairs of legs, seeing how they crawl?”

She was cute, and this felt like this was going somewhere, but I was fairly certain the supervisor I hadn’t seen in six weeks could reappear at any minute, and would somehow find this exchange objectionable, and I really needed this job.

“Listen,” I said. “I was just about to close up shop, you sh — might have to come back tomorrow.”

“If you’ve got something to show me,” she said, “you’d better show me tonight.”

So, I stood up, real cool, wrapped my trench coat around my shoulders, and walked over to where I figured I might be able to help her find her bug.

But it wasn’t there.

But she was into squids, maybe she wouldn’t notice!

I pointed at something green and leaned far enough over the open drawer between us so as to cover the label.

“You make a bad liar,” she said.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I said.

Now, my plan had changed. We were in the back of the room, hidden from the front door by some high shelves of specimen jars, and if I could just get her to make out with me, I might never have to explain that I didn’t know what her bug looked like because, instead of being a bad entomologist, I was actually a failure at being an English major.

So, like, a double failure with sonnets on top.

Or, we could laugh the whole thing off over coffee the next morning while gazing across a city square from her balcony. My bathrobe would be warm and masculine, her bathrobe just a little too small. Suddenly she grabbed my face and pulled me over to her side of the drawer. She pressed her lips to mine. She tasted like death and menthols.

It. Was. Awesome.

Written by Cooper and originally posted on wearestorymakers.com
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