Return Window

I went to the library by the station just before closing to return a book.

I had borrowed it two weeks earlier and read less than half. One corner had bent slightly inside my bag, and I felt apologetic about that, as if the book had been waiting for me to become the kind of person who finished it.

The entrance lights were already off, so I used the return slot in the wall.

The book slid in. A small machine sound followed. Then a receipt came out of the narrow window below.

Usually it only showed the date and the number of items returned.

This one said:

“There is an item still on loan.”

I frowned. I was sure I had borrowed only one book.

Below that was a title I did not recognize.

A Morning in June

The loan date was today’s date. The due date was today too.

While I stood there with the receipt in my hand, something moved inside the return slot. Not the book I had just dropped in. Something thinner and lighter came sliding back, as if the machine had changed its mind.

It was an envelope.

There was nothing written on the front. Inside was a single photograph.

My kitchen that morning.

A glass near the window. Bread I had not yet touched. A square of light on the floor. I knew I had seen all of them, but in the photograph they looked like a place I had almost visited.

On the back, small letters had been printed.

“This time was returned unseen.”

Only then did I remember.

That morning, I had been about to notice something. Not the brightness outside, not the smell of toast, but something nearer than either of those. I had been in a hurry and left before looking at it.

Another receipt came from the narrow window.

“Renew this loan?”

There were no buttons to press.

I hesitated for a while, then put the photograph back into the envelope. I slid the whole envelope into the return slot again.

This time, the machine made no sound.

Instead, a little morning light leaked from the narrow window.

On the way home, the station clock still said it was night.

But the bottom of my bag was warm, as if it were holding fresh bread.