Thursdays were library days. I can still smell the old books and the cup of mismatched pencils on her desk, all just sharpened. One at a time, we would file through the doorway into a maze of bookshelves. I always took the longest to pick a book, I was never good with decisions but I always ended up with the same kind, a book with a pretty cover. My favourite part wasn't being alone and surrounded by books, or picking out one book to keep safe for a while or even being able to read the book I wanted. No, it was picking one of those newly sharpened mismatched pencils and writing my name on the card; slowly drawing each letter in my neatest penmanship, knowing the signature would be permanent and maybe someday someone else would see it and wonder who I was.