Session

Holden

Today will be my third library session with Dina at the university campus. Over the past two weeks, she’s been instrumental in helping me find new peer-reviewed journals that fill in gaps in my studying, as well as new textbooks and even fictional works that have opened my eyes to things I never considered before. There’s something refreshing about learning parts of history through a fictional story, then diving into a new direction of research to confirm or disprove it.

More than just helping me find material, she’s renewed my zeal for studying. I was getting to the point of burnout and felt I had crammed my brain with everything that would fit. But she’s opened up a whole new section, which she’s filling to the brim.

I’m waiting outside for her to arrive, leaning on a concrete raised garden bed lining the front of the library. The courtyard it faces is becoming dormant for the winter, with scattered leaves and dying flowers. Still, there’s something beautiful about the changing of seasons.

Not as beautiful as the woman walking toward me. Her curly hair is down, displaying its impressive length, all while framing her gorgeous features. Her arms are empty, meaning she’s once again come without her usual paraphernalia, Nacho and books.

“Hey,” she greets as she gets within speaking distance.

Something possesses me to step forward and wrap her in my arms. We met more than two months ago, and aside from once, we’ve seen each other at least weekly ever since. Yet, until she started meeting me here, she always had her guard dog on her shoulder.

She tenses right away, so I shift to let go, but in that split second, she returns the embrace. I pause, enjoying the warmth of her against me, which is a nice contrast to the cool autumn air around us.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have ambushed you,” I whisper in her ear.

Instead of replying, she shakes her head, then loosens her grip.

Her face is inches from mine when I lean back, releasing her from my hold. A hug is one thing, but I feel like if I try to kiss her right now, she’d slap me and stop returning my calls. At least, that’s what I think until I look into her eyes and see an unfamiliar expression. One Dina Blake has never shown me before. Vulnerability mixed with a hint of desire.

“We should get to work.” She stops my thoughts in their tracks and takes a step back.

I agree and lead her inside to our usual spot on the second floor.

Once we get organized, she says, “Today, I’ll show you how to use the online resources a little better. How to refine your searches so you’re not sifting through pages of useless results.”

“You’re a lifesaver. That would save me a lot of time. I have a decent grasp of search techniques, but some of your wizardry would be helpful. Especially down the road.”

She beams at me with a genuine smile that says she’s found her purpose in life. One that shows her passion for her area of study and confidence in what she wants to do in the future. That might be the most beautiful thing about her.

We spend the next two hours refining my searching skills for both physical and online documents, using both the online catalogue and the library’s in-house system. All these years, I thought I was doing a decent job, but that’s quickly put in perspective. Dina’s working knowledge of library systems is remarkable.

So is she.

I should stay here for a few more hours and make use of the information I’ve gathered, but as Dina shrugs on her coat and informs me she has to get back home to Nacho, I’m not ready to say goodbye. Especially knowing the next few weeks are going to be sheer chaos for me, and I won’t have a spare moment between now and when my exams are completed.

What I should do and what I want to do are not the same thing, so I ask, “Do you want to share a ride? It is called a ride-share for a reason.”

She pauses, buttoning up her plaid wool coat, and glances at the random papers with my chicken scratch writing on them. Her lips are parted and her eyebrows raised. It doesn’t look like I’m ready to leave, but I don’t think that’s her issue. Packing up would take me less than a minute.

“Uh… no thanks. I’m just going to walk. There won’t be many more nice days. Plus, you probably have a lot more to do, and I’ve got to meet my advisor tomorrow.”

These tests are too important—too critical—to flake on just to extend my time with Dina by ten minutes. But logic has taken a backseat. “Really, I want to. You’ve helped me so much and saved me a lot of time. The least I can do is get you home.”

“I’ve made it home every other time on my own. Don’t worry about me, Dickens. I’ll be fine.” Her mouth says one thing; her eyes say another.

“I insist.” I pick up my phone and open the app to order a car to campus, but a delicate hand covers the screen before I get the first few letters of our destination typed.

“No. Please.”

The dark eyes I started daydreaming about weeks ago stare at me with a sadness I don’t understand.

“Are you still mad about the joke I made on our date? Because I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She drops her gaze to the floor and releases an audible breath from her nose. “No. I wasn’t even upset about that when you said it.”

If that’s the case, I’m not sure why she ran off in such a hurry. I reach out to touch her, hooking my hand around her forearm. “Then what is it?”

Seconds pass before she blurts, “I can’t get in a car.” She lifts her eyes to meet mine, then quickly redirects her focus to something on my left. “Ever.”

That sounds so absurd, I almost laugh. But before I do, I think back to our previous encounters. Even the day she met me at the library to get her book back, she walked in a near monsoon.

“How do you get everywhere you need to go? You can’t walk everywhere. It’s a big city.” I try to pound the pavement at every opportunity, but there are some scenarios—like days when the temperature drops to -30℃—when it’s not possible.

Without breaking her focus on whatever it is she’s looking at beside me, she drones on, “If I absolutely can’t avoid it, I take public transit.”

My first conclusion for her avoidance of cars was the germ factor. But given her penchant for library books, I dismiss that immediately. Taking public transit also squashes that theory. My next guess would be the safety issue, but that doesn’t make sense either. Not if she’d choose a giant tube full of strangers with no seatbelts over a vehicle with extensive safety features.

“So you won’t go in cars. Ever. But you go on public transit? I can’t work out how that makes sense.” I realize how insensitive that sounds, so once again, I backpedal. “Not that it doesn’t make sense; I just—”

“I get that it sounds crazy, but buses are big and slow, and… I just feel safer. Street cars drive on tracks. There’s not a lot of deviation there. They all run on schedules, so they won’t speed or veer off course. I know what to expect and…” She trails off; it doesn’t look like she has any intentions of finishing.

That still doesn’t explain a hard aversion to cars. I could understand limiting her time in them. Downtown Toronto is designed in a way that makes that possible. But never? Never leaving the city limits unless it’s on a bus? Never having the freedom to strike out on a road trip and see where you end up?

“It doesn’t sound crazy. You… I… It…” I stop talking to collect myself and try to find the right words that don’t sound ignorant to her reasoning. “What is it about cars?”

Dina drops into the chair she was seated in earlier and pops the collar on her coat, shielding her face. “My parents died in a car accident when I was thirteen. I know millions of people drive cars every day and arrive at their destinations safely, but did you know that well over a million people die each year in car accidents?”

Fear, anxiety, and a traumatic childhood experience definitely make more sense than germs.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. That… it does make sense, knowing that. But they are very safe.”

“Dickens, listen. I don’t need you to convince me I’ll be fine. Trust me, the rational part of my brain knows that. But an all-consuming, irrational fear grips me and won’t let go as soon as I think about getting in a vehicle that’s less than ten thousand kilos. It’s part of who I am. Take it or leave it.”

If those are my choices, it’s a no-brainer. Take it.

She stands again, smoothing out her coat. “Plus, I don’t have the budget to pay for car services to take me where I need to go. These trusty feet have managed just fine.”

Instead of pushing the matter any further, I suggest walking her home. After some back-and-forth, she concedes and we head out.

Research techniques are not the most interesting information I learned today. And they’re certainly not what my head is focused on as we stride down city streets.