Suspicion

Gonga sighed. This day was just dragging along. It was worse than sitting through the most boring philosophy lecture ever. At least then you could count the number of times the professor got off topic. And at least then the professor had to end; if only because the next class was pressing against the doors for entrance and the following professor was giving him the death stare from the side-lines.

Oh, the weather was nice enough. The sun was shining and all. But Gonga just didn’t feel like playing his accordion. He sat slumped at Speaker’s Circle, watching the crowds mill past.

Ok, enough of this. He picked up his accordion, then paused.

There was something strangely familiar about the guy in the gray zip-up hoodie shuffling towards him. The hair on the back of Gonga’s neck stood up. But he couldn’t pin-point why. What was so familiar about this person? And why did his heart start pounding in his ears?

A non-descript backpack sagged off his shoulder and bumped against his back as he walked. Gonga fiddled with his accordion, following the guy with the corner of his eye as he shuffled past towards the library.

The guy didn’t even look at him.

He didn’t know why, but he had to follow him. Carefully, so as not to appear rushed, Gonga slid his accordion back into its case. Then he too wandered into the library.

At first the guy strolled over to the computers and slung his bag to the ground. Gonga settled down in a comfy chair across the room from him and pulled out a book from his accordion case.

He wasn’t sure why. But he needed to watch this guy. At any rate, his day was going slow enough that this couldn’t possibly slow it down anyway.

Three hours later he was just turning the last page of his book when he noticed the gray hoodie stand up and stretch. He slung his backpack on his shoulder and picked up a piece of paper, then head towards the stacks.

Gonga left his accordion case underneath the chair and tucked his book under his arm. Then he too headed toward the stacks.

Were his instincts misleading him? Was this just a false alarm? The white piece of paper was probably just call numbers the guy had written down for a research project.

Gonga tried to calm himself down. But his guts still churned. Why did that guy seem so familiar?