Chapter 2
August 10, 1974
Norman and I aren’t as close as I would like, which I’m sure is on me. I don’t mind, but it would be nice to have a friend. I could make an early stop at the library today and meet her there.
Signed Otto Octavius.
Otto tucked his journal away, then leaned back in his chair in thought. He and Rosalie met in September of 1978 after meeting in the library. He remembers how nervous he felt when she sat across from him at his table. Rosalie had started things off in their relationship. It was she who had proposed that they meet the next day at the campus coffee shop. Always so confident. Headstrong. She was not hesitant to ask for what she wanted, without uncertainty or shyness. Otto smiled at the memory.
Otto moved on autopilot as he arose from his desk, leaving his dorm room. As he made his way to the campus library, he kept thinking that he should turn around. He was well aware that any small change he makes now will have a much larger effect in the future he left behind. He had planned to change his future with Norman already, so who’s to say he couldn’t do it with his future wife?
His heart fluttered in warmth and in joy as his eyes gazed upon the front steps of the library. Otto climbed the steps and entered the building with a small smile stuck on his face, hoping that she was going to be there that day. Otto's breath hitched as he crossed the threshold, and his pace stalled. Though it wasn't precisely how he remembered it – the shelves weren't painted a near-mahogany color as his memory had posited the buzz was all the same. There was a quiet, muted undercurrent of turning pages, scratching pens, and students haunted by failing grades. The poetry section was his port of call. Otto had never been a fan, but for Rosalie, he had memorized a great deal to impress her. He recalls meeting Rosalie not far from the poetry section. In the far corner of the library, there was a four-person table. This part of the library was the quietest, the front was frequently occupied with barely heard discussions that were readily distracting when trying to study.
He was there for hours before someone approached him. He didn’t even notice the person coming up to him until they sat in the seat beside Otto. He turned his head as calmly as he could, and was a little disappointed when he saw Norman sitting there. Maybe this was his sign that he should wait to meet Rosalie until they were supposed to.
“Hello, Norman.” Otto said in kindness.
“You’ve been here all day,” Norman stated. “Why?”
Otto thought about his answer. He could tell Norman about Rosalie, but decided against it, not wanting Norman to judge him for waiting for a girl that Otto technically hadn't met yet.
“I wanted a change of scenery.” Otto finally answered. “I felt a bit cooped up studying in the dorm and came here for a break and lost time.”
“Reading poetry?” Norman scoffed, Otto sensing judgment in his voice.
“I forced myself to appreciate poetry to impress a girl I liked.” Otto defended himself, with a laugh and a fond smile.
Norman laughed too. Once hearing his laugh, Otto realized how much he missed Norman. He missed their jokes, their late nights out, he missed the two of them being actual friends and not friendly business partners.
“Did you ever memorize anything for her?” Norman asked as his laughter died away, sounding genuinely curious as to what Otto did with his love life.
“Yes, I memorized Frost, Poe, Whitman, Shakespeare, and some others.” Even after all these years, Otto could still remember some of the poems he memorized for her.
Otto had half-expected Norman to say something to move the conversation forward, but nothing. They sat in silence before Norman said anything.
“Well?” He asked in an expectant tone.
“Oh,” Otto startled. “You wanted me to recite something.”
Norman nodded as though it were obvious, then inquired: “What was her favorite?”
“Once I pass’d through a populous city imprinting my brain for future use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions,/ Yet now of all that city I remember only a woman I casually met there who detain’d me for love of me,/ Day by day and night by night we were together–all else has long been forgotten by me,/ I remember I say only that woman who passionately clung to me,/ Again we wander, we love, we separate again,/ Again she holds me by the hand, I must not go,/ I see her close beside me with silent lips sad and tremulous.” Otto recited. “Walt Whitman.”
Norman had an unreadable look on his face. Otto shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the new silence befalling them. He wished he had something else to say, but nothing came to him. Norman stood up, startling Otto a little bit with the sudden movement.
“We should better get back to the dorm, the Library is closing soon.” Norman suggested, awkwardly waiting for Otto to stand.
When Otto rose, Norman started to walk towards the exit. Instead of following Norman out, Otto went further into the library to the poetry section to return his Walt Whitman book. Once he had placed the book safely onto the shelf, he exited the library, expecting to walk back to his dorm alone. He saw Norman sitting at the bottom of the steps, looking like he was waiting for someone; looking like he was waiting for Otto. He walked down the stairs, lightly tapping the back of Norman’s head to let him know he was there. The two of them walked to their dorm in comfortable silence. Otto took in a deep breath of air, enjoying the smell of the autumn air. Autumn had been his favorite season ever since he was a boy, especially at the start when the air was getting cooler, but it was still warm outside. Though, in the later years of his life, Otto never had the chance to appreciate the season as much as he wanted to. When they entered their dorm, Norman lay on his bed and Otto sat at his desk.
Otto stared at Norman, thinking of their life before. He wished that re-making friends was easier than it was. But, danger lurked behind every word Otto wished to speak. One misplaced piece of future information, one moment of insight he couldn't possibly know could unbalance the precarious situation. Norman was his best friend, a friendship he refused to lose when Norman would, understandably, become alarmed at the truth. He'd already lost Norman once to death, he refused to be the cause of losing him a second time.
August 10, 1974
Norman surprised me at the library, where I hoped to meet her. He had me recite a Walt Whitman. I had told him that I memorized poetry to impress a girl, so I guess he wanted me to impress him too. I feel like, after today, we could become faster friends than I expected, or at least more comfortable with each other’s presence.
Signed Otto Octavius
He closed the journal, tucking it away in his desk.
“Are you ever gonna tell me what you write about in there?” Norman asked, making Otto turn his chair to face Norman’s bed.
“I already told you,” Otto responded. “Mere thoughts that I want to keep, so I write them down.”
“You know what I meant.”
Otto did know what Norman meant but wasn’t ready to let Norman read them just yet. He thought that he had made it clear the last time they talked about Otto’s journal.
“In time, I’ll show you what I have written.” That was what Otto told Norman. “Maybe if I become famous later in life, I’ll publish an autobiography with excerpts from my journal.”
Norman hummed in acknowledgment before seemingly drifting off to sleep. Sleep seemed like a good idea at the moment, but Otto had to finish the studying he left behind earlier that day.