Fragment 1 - Page

My name...  My name doesn't mean anything.  It just sort of falls out of your mouth and sits there, glaring at you for a while until you make a personal note not to mention it again in the near future.  Sometimes, I wish I could change it to something simple like Logan or something normal like Jess.  Jessy just has a nice ring to it.  Why couldn't they have just called me Jessy?

I guess I should mention my parents didn't give me my name.  They're both gone.  missing.  vanished.  Left me behind on those hard, marble steps with a blanket tightly winding me up like one of those bon-bons you get around Christmas time... except I was missing a label. 

They couldn't have just left some TP clinging to me with Taylor or Dylan srcibbled on it?  No.  They just had to leave me with this terrible, abominable, and repugnant title given to me by those annoying librarians.

It was the head librarian herself who both found and named me.  Her name's Amy.  Amy Jones.  She let me in early that morning.  I was allowed exclusive rights that day to visit her eighty-plus-only club.  They meet the lounge area between the Drama and Fiction sections on Tuesday and Thursday mornings around five.  Being approximately six and a half months old, I got a lot of attention.

That same morning was the day I was assigned my name.  I still can't believe they didn't even bother to check if I even had a registered name yet.  The Public Records section is just 145 feet from the end of Fiction!  They could have checked!  Anyways, the story goes that while they were deciding what to do with me they decided to give me a 'temporary' name until they could find who I belonged to.  Just temporary.

Whenever I bring it up with Amy, she goes off in her most omniscient tone with something like: "It was only suppose to be temporary dear.  We couldn't just keep referencing you like you were some sort of animal at our door step!"


But Amy thinks my name is a classic.  Pure genius on her part.  Some of the ladies hurriedly scrambled to come up with something reasonable.  They began referencing some famous names from works like Wuthering Heights and Oliver Twist, but Amy, cradling me around the lounge, wasn't satisfied.  The ladies started giving up.

Then, as Amy puts it, "It just fell into my head like a page from the rafters of this old library."

And that's how I got my name.  Page.

Good thing my best friend doesn't mind it much.