Free Love In The Stacks: a short story/ a mini chick lit by Lisa Lim Page A

college library over the summer
and embarked on a dorky Dewey Decimal romance.
    Yep, Ben and I would flirt incessantly whilst
we shelved books and shifted periodicals. Surreptitiously, we’d
sneak kisses behind rows and rows of books. One night, after we had
closed the library, we did the ‘deed’ on the second floor, rattling
scores of bookshelves in the process. I still burn with shame at
the memory, but we spent that entire summer not worrying about a
thing.
    We just lived. And loved.
    I vividly remember lounging at the Memorial
Union, enjoying Babcock ice-cream cones. We’d chill to live indie
bands, staying up all night, watching the sun come up from the
terrace. During those warmer months, Library Mall was a fond spot
of ours. It was an open and grassy space, abuzz with activities.
Students threw Frisbees and played hacky sacks. I’d rest my head on
Ben’s lap, glorifying in the feel of the sun on my cheeks , losing myself in a good book.
    Our summer romance turned into a winter
romance. The U-Dub was dubbed the Arctic campus. All winter long,
Lake Mendota stayed frozen, like a sheet of glass and the roads
were filled with gray slush and salt. During those dreary months,
I’d be holed up in my dorm room, snuggled up with Ben.
    Soon, without either of us even realizing it,
our romance was no longer determined by the seasons.
    We were a couple. Period.
    Out of the woodwork, a Granola Gal came
walking toward me, jolting me out of my reverie.
    The university had an interesting and
eclectic blend of students. But I was especially intrigued by one
particular species—the Granola Gals. Well because, simply put, I
used to be one of them. They were my peeps. We drank soy lattes and
drifted around in our Birkenstocks, wearing tattered wool socks,
baring our unshaven legs. And although the seventies was a bygone
era, we still shared a strong penchant for tie dyes.
    Suffice to say, I was beyond ecstatic when I
spotted a Granola Gal sporting dreadlocks, headed in my
direction.
    Whoo Hoo! I almost pumped my fists in the air
with joy.
    The Granola Gals are not extinct!
    Seconds later, she was standing right in
front of me.
    As I stood there, gazing at her dreadlocks, I
caught a whiff of patchouli.
    “Are you Liv?” she asked.
    I nodded, too dumbstruck to speak.
    “Here,” she said, thrusting a note into my
hand. “Some guy named Ben asked me to give this to you.”
    “Thanks,” I replied, blatantly ogling her.
This experience was akin to a close encounter with the third
kind.
    In a blink on an eye, Granola Gal spun around
and floated away, in her gray knit socks and Keen hiking
sandals. Ah, the footwear has changed with the times.
    Slightly dazed, I glanced down and read the
note.
     
    Meet me at the College Library,
    You’ll find me here:
    823.914
    B848p
     
    Love, Ben
     
     
    OK. Ben wanted me to do the Dewey. I was
game.
    Immediately, I went about dissecting the
numbers:
    8 = Literature
    2 = English literature
    3 = English fiction
     
    9 = 1900
    1 = 20th century
    4 = after 1945
    B = my guess was “Beauvoir,” for the simple
fact that Simone de Beauvoir was my favorite author, philosopher
and social theorist. I mean, how could I not love Simone when she
was the one who coined the phrase, “One is not born, but rather
becomes, a woman.”
     
     
    I was right. I found Ben on the second floor,
in the back row, leaning heavily against the shelf stacked with
books written by Simone de Beauvoir. As Ben watched me advance on
him, the lazy sweep of his brown eyes made my skin prickle. Even
after years of dating, he still brought butterflies to my
stomach.
    With long and quick strides, I was soon
beside him. “Hey.” I smiled.
    “Hey.” He smiled back. “You found me.”
    “I found you.”
    Ben straightened himself, shifted his weight
and cleared his throat. “I’ve got something for you.”
    I nibbled my bottom lip. “You do?”
    “I do.” He raked his fingers through his dark
hair and paused, as if struggling