slow motion

I was walking toward and still a few feet away from the information desk, deciding which of the panel of librarians to address, when my mouth jumpstarted the question, “Is there a way for me to research in the old newspapers?”

Her wide eyes made me look to them as I completed my question. They were like a quarter of a hardboiled egg. They gave a look of wanting to help even though they were really quite expressionless.

“The computers are all fully booked at this moment,” she said, looking at the list and keeping an upright posture on her swivel chair. “But you can tell me what you want to search. I can look it up for you.”

A nervousness trickled from her high supple cheeks down to her chin. Her complexion was arid and pasty from over-wash but cosmetically glossy. She kept her wide eyes from making contact with mine. They shone like a fluorescent desk lamp.

Trying a bit too hard to hide my hesitation, I enunciated the words, “Cosmetic surgery failures in Hong Kong that have led to depression and mental breakdowns.” I put emphasis on the keywords and improvised the latter part of the sentence to keep from saying ‘suicide’.

“How far back do you want me to trace?” She asked, eyes on the monitor, hands on the keyboard.

“Just recent ones.”

“The last month? The last two months? The last year?”

“How about the last two years?”

“From Aug 14 2009 to Aug 14 of 2011,” she said flatly, and with the pride of a librarian who insisted on structure. Her posture was upright and her eyes wore a blank focus. She had the ability to make typing sounds while keeping her body still. Then she lifted the monitor, turned it toward me, and rested it on the counter that came up to my shoulders. The monitor half-stood in a twisted position restricted by its too-short power cord. “You can hold it,” she said and left me to scan the results while she tended to another patron. I kept one hand on the mammoth screen to keep it from falling.