To Mend Fences

The reference librarian made coffee. He sat alone in the conference room and smelled the coffee. He wondered if it was strong enough. He wondered if he should have poisoned it.

     The circulation librarian came into the conference room. She sat beside him in one of the large comfy chairs. The board of directors, when they were still meeting here, had requested the best. She said, "So what's he like?"

     "Who?" the reference librarian said.

     "The second branch librarian."

     The reference librarian looked around. Seeing no one, he said, "Creepy bastard. I mean, we all got our things, but he's been out there too long. Gotten into some things in the county that should not-"

     "Hello," said the children's librarian as she breezed into the room and sat across from them. "We talking about Mr. Creepy from the land out yonder?"

     "Lower your voice," the reference librarian said.

     The children's librarian stuck out her tongue. "He's strange, but he's still a librarian."

     "That alone should scare you," the reference librarian said.

     "Is the director coming?" the circulation librarian said.

     The technical services librarian said from the door, "He is in his office on a call. He said we should handle it." She limped around the table and took a seat next to the children's librarian.

     "Would you like some coffee, Miriam?"the reference librarian said.

     "Did you poison it?" said the tech serv librarian with a small smile.

     The circulation librarian said, "I can't tell if y'all are joking anymore."

     "Ask your predecessor," said the tech serv librarian.

     Before the circulation librarian could ask what that meant, a small tapping came from the door. They turned and found the second branch librarian standing in the doorway. Small, wrapped in dark cloth and the smell of sage, the second branch librarian smiled.

     "It has been too long since we have met," he said, his voice high and full of teeth.

     "Coffee, Jacob?" said the reference librarian. 

     The second branch librarian took the seat at the far end of the table. He folded in on himself becoming a lump of coal and eyes looking out at them. When he spoke, his teeth shinded. "No, thank you, Christopher."

     "Well, I am, dammit." The reference librarian rose and poured a cup.

     The second branch librarian spoke: "I have little time. I am aware some of my patrons from the county vandalized the city book drop. This is unacceptable, and I wish to make amends and offer my apologies. I propose an outreach project of sorts to mend fences."

     "What kind of project?" the circulation librarian asked.

     "An art class from the local co-op needs a space. Free instruction to the public. After hours, so it can be contained. They will pay more than enough to use the space to fix the book drop."

     "We can't let people in to use the library," the children's librarian said.

     "We can if we invite them to use the space. If we use responsible practices, six feet, masks, etc. If you want the money for your book drop, this is the only way."

     "We could take money from the second branch budget," the reference librarian said.

     The second branch librarian flashed his teeth. "I have already spoken to the director and the art class. They find this acceptable. Once a month, the weekend after the full moon."

     "That's this weekend," said the children's librarian.

     The circulation librarian leaned forward. "Did the Nguyen family go to this art class?"

     "The sweet Nguyen family has enjoyed many of the second branch's programs," the second branch librarian said.

     "What do you think, Mirim?" the reference librarian said.

     The tech services librarian said, "None of my business. I don't do programming."

     The reference librarian turned to the children's librarian. "Jamie?"

     "We need a book drop. I say we do it," the children's librarian said.

     The second branch librarian rose. "The art class and their teacher will be in contact."

     "We didn't decide," the reference librarian said.

     The second branch librarian rose and walked to the door. "It was decided before I even came. As I said, I talked to the director. Good day to you all. We should meet again soon." He left with a small tapping.

A Green Light Means Drop

The reference librarian told the children's librarian, "Okay, here's what we do: You go first, get the door open wide. I'll push this bin out fast as I can behind you, so get out the way. I'm gonna hit the curb hard and might bounce a bit. Don't let that worry you."

     "You don't want to use the ramp?" The children's librarian said.

     The reference librarian shook his head. "If I make the turn, go down a few feet, then have to turn again? Seconds lost. People could be out there waiting to get in. Asking when we open, when they can donate old shit nobody cares about. No masks. The bastards."

     "Should I come behind you with a cart? Catch anything that falls?"

     "And have two of us out there at the same time? Are you mad?"

     "I didn't used to think so."

     "Jamie, we must do this fast. Changing the book drop bin is nothing to laugh at."

     "I'm not laughing. Every day seems the same. Same patrons, same curbside, same you and same me. Nothing ever changes. Even online programs. I don't know whether the wheels on the bus are going round and round or coming or going," the children's librarian said. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

    The reference librarian wanted to comfort her, but in the times of plague there is no touch. Words mean little. Action, though. He knew action. "Hey," he said. "Let's get these bins swapped out. How about it?" 

     The children's librarian's eyes crinkled and her head nodded. A smile somewhere under that Miss Frizzle mask came through. Focus and duty, the reference librarian thought, can bring us through.

     They got into places. The children's librarian stood by the door, her hand on the bar ready to push. The reference librarian stood with hands on a yellow bin. He gave it an experimental shove and enjoyed the way the wheels glided. Well oiled wheels.

     "Go," he said.

     The children's librarian shoved open the door with a heavy metal clang and ran around it. Halfway, though, with a hand on the door, she stopped. A green light shone around her. In the door frame against the overcast sky, she became a shadow in the sick flickering glow of whatever she was gazing at outside in the parking lot.

     The reference librarian stopped himself from pushing the bin into her. "What's wrong?" he said.

     "Oh, Chris," she said.

     He got the bin out of the way and stood beside her in the doorway. The book drop was ablaze in dark green fire. Black in the center where the bright white should be and flickering forest colored light to a smokeless sky. 

     Beyond the book drop, out in the parking lot, came the mirthless laughter of children. "The Nguyen family," the children's librarian said. 

     "Who?" the reference librarian said.

     "They went to the second branch and came back."

     "I'll make a call," the reference librarian said.

Often They Come Back

The circulation librarian stepped into the children's department. She was new and did not take shit, but she still felt at odds just walking into another librarian's area. She said, "Knock knock."

     The children's librarian looked up, "Julie, how nice. What can I do for you?"

     "So I'm on curbside, and there's some people who need help. But they only want to talk to you."

     "Oh, how great. Did they give a name?" The children's librarian began going through piles of books beside her desk. She had been working hard making bags for her regular children she knew would appreciate them.

     "The Nguyen family?" The circulation librarian said.

     The children's librarian froze. "Are you sure?"

     "That's what they said."

     The children's librarian picked up the phone and dialed an extension. She said, "Chris, they came back…. The Nguyen family… The ones we sent to the second branch… Well, no, but Julie said they asked for me… I guess they can still talk... Can you come with me to see… Fine, then. Me and Julie. Enjoy your webinar." She set the phone in its cradle with more force than intended.

     "We have a second branch?" the circulation librarian asked.

     "Yes," the children's librarian said as she stood.

    They walked to the front door. The sun had hidden behind thick dark clouds. Through the glass, shadows could be seen looming over the curbside tables. Three little shadows and a dark brooding lump of an adult. 

     "Where there had been light now lived darkness," the children's librarian said.

     "What?" the circulation librarian said.

     "Nothing. Something my mom always said." The children's librarian squared her shoulders and lit up her face with a kind smile. She crafted her thoughts of joy and helpful wonder. She hoped as she opened the door. "The Nguyen family!"

     "Can you come play with us, Miss Jamie?" the children said as one.

     The mother Nguyen said, "The librarians at the second branch played with them. You should play with them, too."

     "Oh, I'm sorry, but we can only do curbside here. I can probably find some books for you, though if you remind me of your library card numbers…"

     Three sets of little hands lay flat on the table. "Play with us, Miss Jamie."

     The circulation librarian stepped forward. She had picked up a spray bottle at some point. A fine mist came from the end of the spout and onto the table. Onto the little hands. The children hissed and hid behind their mother. 

     "My babies," Mother Nguyen said.

     "I'm sorry. We have to clean the tables. Is there anything library related we can help you with?" the circulation librarian said.

     "We will go to the second branch," Mother Nguyen said and led her children away.

     The children's librarian said, "What's in that bottle, Julie?"

     "My mama said some things to me, too," said the circulation librarian as she wiped at the table.