Bookmarks and Bellybuttons
by Lyn Leader

These accusatory words kept ringing in her ears until she had a thumping headache. That's what happens, she chided herself, when you read until the early hours of the morning, every morning, seven days a week. I really do have to get a life! The rather plain, ordinary woman with the mousy blonde hair rolled into a tight schoolmarm chignon wearily climbed another rung on the cold aluminium stepladder. Filing library books was mind-bogglingly tedious. She hated this part of her day. It was so boring and predictable, like the rest of her life actually. Her claim to fame - reliable librarian in the small seaside town of Fish Hoek. She had always been a quiet girl, teased incessantly by the students in her class. She apparently had the personality of a wet piece of cardboard. Intensely shy and avoiding all contact with the popular children she earned the nicknames – Dilly Dot, Mouse, Bookworm. One of the reasons she liked to escape into the fantasy world of books, delving into other people's exciting lives, without having to make such life changing decisions of her own, was so she could live varied and exciting lives for a few hours and tomorrow simply be someone else again. So why did she still feel so empty and despondent? Everyone else out there seemed to be living life, while she merely got to reading about it in print in the safety of her own little boring home, in a boring street, in a boring little suburb. This uninspiring, pokey flat was the heart of her universe!

The following morning was a typical northwesterly - I should stay in bed - type of day. Cold, grey, windy and dull - just like her inane life. Routinely she trudged to work at the Civic Centre, her heart heavy with the familiarity of it all. Every day the same thing, wake up, get dressed, eat marmalade toast, walk to work and spend 8 long hours in the dark, musty-smelling face-bricked building. Habitually make black coffee and methodically sort through yesterday's book returns. The people who visited the library regularly were so engrossed in their own unique worlds that the only real communication with them was when they requested a book and it had not yet been returned by the current borrower. They became animated, angry and irritable. Well then when will you get it to me? She was so very tired of it all. Nobody had anything interesting to say to her.

Walking over to the table where most of the schoolchildren sat drawing until their working parents, with interesting lives, would collect them at 5pm every afternoon, she spotted a clear plastic zip lock bag, housing two very strange haberdashery-type items. They were small, shiny and sort of round, like bottle tops. Hanging from the middle of each of these strange disks appeared to be a sequined tassel of sorts. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she deftly unzipped the bag and poured its contents onto the solid wooden countertop. Mesmerized by their sparkling beauty she picked them up and glancing around the empty library, hesitantly popped them guiltily in her out of date, but warm woollen jacket pocket. She would, of course, return them the following morning, placing them in the Lost and Found box under her desk. She had a real need however to take them home tonight and study them in the serenity of her bleak, small, white painted flat. Their beauty was intense. What on earth were they used for? And what kind of person did they belong to?

The day dragged by agonisingly slowly and eventually with heavy lids framed behind her thick tortoiseshell spectacles she picked up her drab brown blazer, her deceased mother’s favourite item, and closed the heavy, well-weathered oak doors of the ghostly building with a dull thud. The large metal key rattled noisily in the rusty lock. Work was finally over for a glorious couple of hours. Tonight felt so different, almost special. The excitement was tangible. She literally flew into her flat, slamming the flaked white painted panel door behind her with her foot. Not her normal demeanour at all! She could not understand her behaviour - it was as if these little ornaments had magically bewitched her somehow. Normally she went through this little ritual of hanging her jacket on the coat hooks at the front door, fastidiously smoothing out her scarf and draping it around the jacket collar, taking off her shoes, rubbing her aching toes and meticulously placing them neatly in front of her bedroom cupboard to air overnight. Plodding down the wooden creaking passage she would then flick the switch at the back of the white plastic kettle for a quick cuppa while deciding what to cook for dinner. A microwaved baked potato and a cup of vegetable soup was her staple dinner. But tonight was going to be different. She would order a pizza from Mr Delivery. She could not wait to hold these quaint, sequined, strangely shaped objects in her hands just one more time. But first she would run a hot, oily bath.

Discarding the dilapidated floral plastic shower cap she apprehensively began pinning her hair up. She liked the way the loose tendrils framed her innocent, almond-shaped hazel eyes fringed with thick black lashes. She glanced again at her naked porcelain reflection in the misted mirror. Her breasts were round, soft and full, voluptuous. Reaching into her dressing table drawer she nervously retrieved her mother’s timeworn lipstick tube. The scratched label, barely legible read – fire engine red! Carefully and with deliberation she started painting her lips. Her bath was still far too hot, so she slipped the sequined little gems into her hands and stood once more in front of her mirror, her hands slowly placing them onto her nipples. They looked wonderful, beautiful, exotic. They made her feel so sensual. Nervously rummaging in her neat pine bedside table drawer her fingers found the Super Glue tube. Squeezing a small dot onto the back of one of the shiny caps she slowly and gently pressed it down onto one pink nipple. It stuck. She was transfixed. She gyrated her lithe, silky body sideways and – what do you know - the tasselled cap did a loop-the-loop. How awesome! With growing excitement she stuck the other one down as well. This was quite thrilling. She could just imagine how those exotic dancers must feel while frolicking rhythmically on stage in front of an audience of appreciative men in little more than these "nipple caps..." That's what they are! She burst out laughing. Imagine - the shy, boring librarian with a secret life after dark - an exotic dancer. In an uncharacteristically defiant display of rebelliousness she turned the volume of the barely audible radio up really LOUD, dancing sensuously, wantonly, to the music. She always thought anything sexy was lewd, nasty, distasteful, smutty and vulgar. Good, moral, decent girls weren't allowed to dwell on such debauchery. But she had absolutely no idea that it could feel so damn exhilarating. During her lunch hour tomorrow she would go out and buy herself some underwear called G-strings. Stuff the Mother Grundy's. She rushed over to find yesterday's newspaper, bath temporarily forgotten, turned to the Classified section and looked up Belly Dancing - Jewels of the Night Classes; Wanted - Exotic Dancers for new, professional upmarket Gentleman's Club. Shangri-la!

She just knew even before she had gently eased those sparkly caps from her body in the steaming, warm tub that her life as an introverted, unimaginative librarian was over forever. Dilly Dot, Mouse and Bookworm died tonight. Hot Dot was born and life was for living. A Walt Disney quote popped into her head - "dreams can come true if we have the courage to pursue them".

© Lyn Leader