~+*Ten Minutes Under the Staircase*+~

One of the few things I did prefer at this institution was no more loud-and annoying if I may-bells sounding off for the next class. But I wouldn't mind it if I could go back, college has felt more of a burden than a thrilling experience. And just as I was in my new school the year before, I tend to be a loner even here.

My mind is telling me to go out and talk to people, be friends with others, make contact. But my head retorts with my jumbled thoughts,

'Why should I?'

During the break, my body gets up from its seat in the grey, large classroom. I hear my sneakers shuffle down the corridor as I pass by just as dull coloured lockers, closed doors-no doubt class is still in session for others. I pass by many faces, but they're a blur in an attempt to remember them after only a few moments. But I soon push a hand forward as I turn sharply to my left.

I've arrived.

People will hardly see much; just a stairwell, and to the far right of it an emergency exit. Now you're thinking I'm going out the door is what I'm doing. No, for one thing that door closes locked shut behind you and it would take far too long to get to the other door with what time I have. The second is this IS where I wanted to go, right here.

Under the staircase.

Many people probably don't even notice it-as all people do is either come up or down the said stairwell and go through the other door I just came from-but there's a large empty space behind these concrete hard steps. If I duck my head and bend forward my back, I can step under and into the large space. After this is accomplished, I take a seat on the white porcelain floor.

When I had first made this into my little sanctuary away from the many masses and faces in the hallways, I would dig out my cellphone and playing a poor game of Solitaire.

I never won most times.

But it soon became more than just ten minutes of every hour I would come here. One lunchtime I had gone to the bookstore and held victoriously a new novel in my palms. I had been waiting for it for more than a week now. The woman at the desk gave it to me with a smile, as I left the store tearing into the packaged plastic wrap. I silently sighed to myself, one of my favourite smells was the fresh print of new books, feeling the smooth, untainted pages pristine and clean, the novel's spine wrinkle free.

I drove back, as I still had class today sadly. But, with this in mind and the book on the console box next to me, I had an idea. Later that day I crouched down, under the staircase, returning to my comforting solitude. But this time I grasped a fair size book in one hand, careful not to clench it too tightly and ruin the smooth cover page.

I sat down in my usual spot, and opened to where I left off in this new story I was eager to dive into (being so excited, I couldn't help but read some of it after I arrived in the parking lot.)

Now, as the other class members run off to their vehicles for a short drive during the break or walk merrily with friends to the cafeteria for cheap coffee, I exit heading to my small and cramped locker. I read often and already it's littered with books new and old, owned by myself as well as others belonging to libraries. But I always try for one at a time-even if I've read it a thousand time over.

I grab the still new book, triumphantly resting on the locker's top and only shelf. I close the metal door, hearing the lock click as my feet lead me to the room up the hall and to the left.

As I make my way once more under the staircase.

Sometimes I hear footsteps from above me approach, sometimes it's a whole group. If I hear more than one voice, it is most often girl gossip, or brief discussions about weekend plans, appointments, or final projects coming due. But even then I don't pay attention to those voices I don't recognize. Besides, it's none of my business to question or pry. I'm just that one girl, whom likes to read books under the staircase.

Though most times, I'm never discovered, no one knows I'm under their feet. It also gives me a comforting feeling that I am not being looked at from behind. All throughout this place are cameras after cameras, two security men walk about observing. I understand their job is to keep our safety intact, but I always hate that annoying feeling that I'm being watched.

Under the staircase, there are no cameras that see me in my dark corner; I can breathe not worried someone's looking right at me.

One of the guard's has seen me during his rounds, comes across my slouched floor sitting on the pale white floor in the corner, my just as light fingers turning a new page. But he's friendly, asks about what I'm reading from curiosity-I have missed from time to time anyone at all taking interest in my books. He leaves me be after a minute or two of conversation, and I once again turn a page.

Sometimes you don't have to feel sorry for someone seeking seclusion, I don't want any sympathetic looks. All I am doing is reading a stimulating book.

I am simply reading my book under the staircase for ten minutes.

After another hour, I will come back for ten more minutes for some time to myself, the main characters throughout the pages, and the staircase.