Unexpected Apprehension

There are influences in this life that none of us could ever hope to comprehend. Not in the religious sense. In the "why would anyone do that" sense.

I'll step outside of my ego for a few minutes (treasure this, it doesn't happen often).

My wife tells me that I am intimidating. I agree. I'm short, but I am not a small man. I may have even developed a napoleonic complex and am immediately more aggressive when people taller than me enter my personal space. I don't have an explanation for why, only that it is the way it is. I also seem to have a bit of an obsidian disposition. I may be perfectly content, but to a lot of people I may not look happy, or even angry. People who know me have come to understand that it's just my face at rest.

I don't mean to be that way, but I'm sure there's a perfectly acceptable psychological explanation as to why I am. That said, it really has nothing to do with what was wrong with this mysterious fellow I crossed paths with at the library. But it's the only explanation I can come up with.

My wife had gotten a recommendation for a good read from a friend (the previously mentioned Lisa). On a trip to the library (I'm reading much more since marriage), my wife asked me to procure this literary nugget, so she wouldn't have to make the trip later. It wasn't a torturous task, so I set out to pick up the books.

On the way back out of the aisles of the Galaxie Library (no, it's not misspelled), a gentleman wearing glasses and a striped white shirt, entered the same aisle I was utilizing for my exit. It was a scene from a movie, he steps in to the aisle, with his son, and our eyes meet.

Immediately, he pushes his son between two book racks and quickly exits the aisle in the space between two other book racks, opposite of the space he pushes his son, clearing the aisle I'm exiting.

His son finds some of the book covers engaging. "Daddy. Daddy! Daddy! Look! Daddy!"

"Just a minute honey. Wait."

"Daddy, look!" At this point, the boy has pulled a book from the shelf and he's struggling to hold it high over his head. His father won't make eye contact with him, as he continues to stare at the bookcase.

"Just a minute. I'll look in a minute."

As I pass by and exit the aisle, he looks at his son and grabs the book. He picks up his son and takes off down the aisle.

To the gentleman in the Galaxie Library that I intimidated out of an aisle on Saturday the 14th: First, I'm sorry.

Second, what the hell was that about?