Revolving

Revolving

October 1965

H E’S BALANCING

G RICE

and Brown and Levinson and Plato on top of Wind in the Willows

, and when he gets stuck in the manually operated revolving door, they all tumble about. Everybody in the half of the door that isn’t stuck makes their way back into the library, grumbling that they can’t get out.

‘Sorry, folks!’ she hears him shout as he frantically picks up the books. Once out of the library and into the crisp night, he lets out a big puff of air. She’s smiling into her scarf.

‘Do you need a hand?’ she asks.

‘Birdie,’ he says, looking relieved to see her.

‘I’m heading back to the department anyway,’ she lies, holding out a hand to take something from him. She takes the top three books and slips them into her bag.

‘You are too kind,’ he says. And for a brief moment it seems as though he might cry.

‘Shall we?’ she asks, and they make their way down the stairs and across the grass towards the English department in the steadily darkening night.

‘So, Eddie,’ she asks, ‘what do you make of Birmingham

so far?’ They pass a pair of students flyering for a protest due to take place next week.

‘Confounding,’ he says. ‘Lancaster feels like it became a city by accident. Birmingham is just so large.’

‘I like that though,’ Bridie says. ‘In a big enough city, you can disappear.’

‘But why would you want to disappear?’ he asks her. From over the top of Wind in the Willows

, he is looking at her.

Bridie doesn’t know if it’s because she revealed something she ought not to have, or because of the way his bright blue eyes are looking right into hers that adrenaline rushes to her stomach. And she feels guilty that she is what he sees, that he’s not looking at someone prettier.

He shouldn’t have to waste those eyes on her.