Made His Toes Curl

"I don't understand. Where did the money come from?" the children's librarian said. 

     The reference librarian leaned back and nodded to the circulation librarian out working the curbside table. "Her."

     "She's barely been here two weeks. Has she even met with the director?"

     "Well, not her exactly. Seems our previous circulation staff budget was embellished by the tenure of our old coworker."

     "She costs less so we get a new page."

     "Bingo," the reference librarian said.

     The children's librarian pushed back a lock of golden hair from her forehead. "Has anyone told Freddy?"

     Before the reference librarian could respond, the circulation librarian called out to them. They rose and went outside.

     "I'm so glad to meet you both," a woman said from across the curbside table. Older with a yellow baseball cap and a matching mask. "My daddy loved you both so much. Talked about you all the time. He passed away yesterday in his sleep."

     The librarians introduced themselves. The children's librarian took the lead, saying, "I'm so sorry, but who was your father?"

     "You must think me silly. Sheila Anchor. My daddy was Ansel Anchor."

     "I'm sorry to hear about your loss," the children's librarian said. "Seems so sudden. He was just here this weekend."

     "That art class made his toes curl. He talked about framing that picture he drew. We couldn't find it, though. Is it still here?" Sheila said.

     The reference librarian said, "It could be in the meeting room. The art teacher left her supplies and things."

     A severe looking man with gray hairs and no mask on his face said, "Excuse me. Don't mean to break up the memorial service, but I need some damn books."

     The circulation librarian waved to him. They began talking at the other end of the table.

     The children's librarian said, "We can go check."

     The reference librarian hesitated, but she took his arm. They went inside. As they crossed to the meeting room, he said, "Shouldn't someone stay out there with Julie?"

     "You wanna see what they painted in there?"

     "Fair enough."

     "Seems odd him dying like that."

     "Old man dies in his sleep. Not that odd. Pleasant, really," the reference librarian said unlocking the meeting room door.

     She said, "How will we know which is his?"

    "Check for the signature 'Old Cranky Bastard' down at the bottom."

    Except the meeting room was empty. No art supplies. No canvases. No paints. No easels. Nothing in the small kitchen either.

     The reference librarian said, "Maybe she took it out the fire door?"

     "Without a key? We would have heard the alarm," the children's librarian said.

     Back at the table, they explained the art teacher must have the paintings and again offered their condolences. Sheila Anchor left, thanking them for treating her father so well during his last days. They promised to talk to the art teacher and put them in touch.

     At the other end of the table, the maskless man said, "I don't have to. I been vaccinated so just give me my damn books."

     "I still need your card number, sir. Or your name," the circulation librarian said.

     The man stuck his finger in the librarian's face. "I'm gonna get you." His finger drifted to each of them. "All of you. I been vaccinated."

     Then he left. The librarians were speechless.

Don't Lock the Meeting Room

The reference librarian let the art teacher into the library at ten on saturday. Old Man Anchor was dead twenty-four hours later.

     "My Christopher, you look good enough to eat," the art teacher told the reference librarian.

     The reference librarian said, "Well, thank you. I might give you indigestion, though."

     The children's librarian felt her blood run cold. She said, "I thought your class started at noon?"

     They stood by the table for curbside pickup. A light morning rain pitter pattered down. Breaks in the clouds showed signs of sunshine coming later in the day.

     The art teacher flashed her teeth. "I thought I would prepare. Some of my students are known to come early."

     The reference librarian let her into the library. The children's librarian watched them walk into the dark building. Her arm was linked to his, and they laughed like old friends.

     Around eleven, a couple came to the curbside table. The children's librarian greeted them and thanked them for wearing the black masks over their noses and mouths. They had the same dark hair and color-catching gray eyes of the art teacher. The man had on a brown hoodie that gave his eyes tan flecks while the woman's blue wrap over a white dress lit her face up. They walked past her. The reference librarian led them to the meeting room.

     At eleven forty-five, Old Man Anchor came to the library. The sun had come out, just a few dark clouds in the sky dropping heavy rain drops. He said, "Damn old devil is beating his wife today."

     "Excuse me?" the children's librarian said.

     "The devil beating his wife."

     "I guess I don't know the devil was married."

     The old man grimaced. "I'm here for the art class."

     "Us, too," said a young woman. Two of them, each holding big sketch pads under their arms with sorority ribbons in their hair.

     "Well, then I guess we should let you in," the children's librarian said with an uneasy smile.

     The reference librarian went to lead them back, but the children's librarian waved him off. When they got to the meeting room, the door was locked. Before she could get her key, the door opened.

     "Well, Mr. Anchor. Look at you. Little rain on you, I see," the art teacher said from the dark meeting room. She stepped into the light. She wore a dark red robe that draped around her shoulders.

     "Miss Karryn," the old man said, wiping at the water on his shoulders. "Devil's beating his wife out there."

     The art teacher took him by the arm. "My daddy used to say that about sunshowers. 'Karryn, baby, when a day is so pretty the devil just has to take it out on someone and make it rain.'"

     Old Man Anchor smiled and let himself be led into the meeting room. The college girls followed. The children's librarian started to follow, but the art teacher came back and blocked her way.

     "Sorry, but I'm always a bit shy when I model for students. Do you mind if we have privacy?" the art teacher said. She pulled her robe up on her shoulder.

     "Model?" the children's librarian said.

     "The human form. Once you understand that, you can make art from just about anything."

     "Nude modeling?"

     "Well, modest."

     "Nude modeling in the library?"

      The art teacher gave a smile. Then she closed the door.

     The children's librarian told the door, "Please don't lock the door. Fire codes."

     Back at curbside, the children's librarian told the reference librarian, "She's doing nude modeling back there. Told her not to lock the door."

     "Because of the fire codes," the reference librarian said.

     "Yeah."

     "The director did approve the program."

     "He did," the children's librarian said.

     After lunch until about two, with the sun out and the puddles evaporating in lazy mist, people came to get their holds. Young and old, singles and families. The librarians were busy. So busy they did not hear the sudden screams die down to moans in the meeting room.

     Around three, the clouds came back. The two college girls and the old man left first. They walked slow and silent from the building, pale and dazed. The couple came next, smiling and hugging one another. They waved and told the reference librarian they would love to have him at the next meeting.

     The art teacher left last. She nodded to the children's librarian and whispered something to the reference librarian.

     "What did she say?" the children's librarian said.

     "The reference librarian said, "That she looked forward to next month. Thanks for letting her use the library."

     The children's librarian believed he was lying.

Forgot How to be Tender

"So you can have a damn art class while I can't come in and check on the Wall Street Journal?" Old man Anchor said. 

     The children's librarian held a hand over her eyes to block the rays of the sunset behind the old man. "The art class is a special program from outside the library."

     "Where's the Journal come from? Huh? Y'all print it out back?"

     "As we told you last week, we put a hold on all print subscriptions when we closed."

     "Closed." Anchor spat a thick glob in the bushes by the curbside table. "I pay your salary with my taxes. You ain't serving shit. Just standing behind this table with your books."

     "Would you like to check out a book? Or I can tell you how to access the Wall Street Journal online?" the children's librarian said.

     "Ain't got no online. You think I can pay for a computer after they take out all those taxes and pay for nothing you give me?"

     The children's librarian summoned visions of children. Squeals of books at curbside. Little faces staring out from a computer screen. Small masks on little faces over bright eyes while being read to on the library lawn over the summer. As the sun dipped below the horizon, she could see the old man more clear.

     "Where is your mask, Mr. Anchor?" The children's librarian said.

     He spat again. "I got that shot. Been vaccinated."

     "I still need you to wear a mask for us at the table. Sorry, sir."

     "Oh, sure. Useless. I hope they close this whole place down. Never did nothing for me," the old man said.

     "You have been vaccinated?" a woman said.

     The old man and the children's librarian turned to find a woman standing near the table. The art teacher stood in dark maroon. She wore a shawl over her black hair and a mask over her nose and mouth. She had wrapped her body in deep red folds. The children's librarian found herself staring at the grey of the woman's eyes, how they picked up the red and turned them a warm purple.

     "Who're you?" the old man said.

     "Mr. Anchor, this is the art teacher. Karryn…" The children's librarian paused, not knowing the art teacher's last name.

     The art teacher did not give it. She only reached out a hand with long manicured nails. "Charmed, Mr. Anchor."

     The old man's face screwed up. But he took her hand in a light grip. The children's librarian thought he would bend down to kiss it. His shoulders slumped and his face relaxed into a gentle smile. The librarian wondered how long it had been that someone had touched him.

     "Nice to meet you," he said in a low tone. Face to face, the world seemed to melt away. The children's librarian wanted to leave feeling like something intimate was going on.

     "So you have been vaccinated?" the art teacher said.

    "Second shot later today," he said.

     "So healthy and strong. Smart, too, reading the Wall Street Journal," she said.

     The old man shook his head. "No, no. Just keeping an eye on my stocks."

     "Preparing for the future. Clever, too. There's a few like you in my art class. Maybe you would like to join us?"

     "Ain't good at drawing. No supplies either, miss."

     The art teacher put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure I have some to spare. I promise you, it will be rejuvenating."

     "Okay," the old man said. He nodded like a child while smiling.

     "Remember to wear a mask because we shall be inside, Mr. Anchor," the art teacher said.

     "Yes, ma'am."

     "See you Saturday, then."

     The old man backed away from the table. Smiling and nodding. "See you then, ma'am." He paid no attention to the children's librarian as he left.

     The art teacher took a small bottle of hand sanitizer from the table and rubbed her hands together slowly. The children's librarian felt the woman's gaze, those purple eyes, on her. An alarm went off in the back of her mind.

     "Thanks," the children's librarian said, looking away.

     The art teacher said, "Men are just boys who forgot how to be tender. I have no doubt I'll see him again. Now, I have some supplies I would like to drop off. Do you mind if I bring them in?"

     "Of course," the children's librarian said and moved the table aside.

Red Sky in Morning

The circulation librarian did not like the look of the art teacher named Karryn. Nothing in particular stood out as art teacher's went. Cute black dress with some necklaces and bracelets that drew the eye and made little tinny sounds. Cute black hair cut in a bob that landed just below her ears where simple silver loops hung. Cute pea coat and cute strappy shoes and a cute tote bag that said "Where my art bitches at?"

     When Karryn the art teacher smiled, though, it felt too inviting.

     Karryn flashed that smile and said, "Can I see the space today or should I come back?"

     The circulation librarian said, "I'm sorry, but we're a little short handed. I'm the only one working curbside right now."

     "Oh, I hate to impose on you essential workers," Karryn said. She ran a hand along the table, her long unpolished nails skipping over it's uneven surface. "Are y'all always this busy?"

     There had been six appointments all morning. As they set up the table, the sky had been red under the dark clouds. The reference librarian had said, "Red sky in morning, a sailor takes warning." Then he had gone off to take in the delivery and installation of the new book drop and left her alone. Noises from that side of the building had been happening all morning as the workers tried to beat the rain.

     "We have our spurts. Always when we turn our backs, that's when people come," the circulation librarian said.

     Karryn said, "Like a cat. Ignore it, and it will lay on you all day long."

     "I suppose so. I should have another person here in a few hours," the circulation librarian said, thinking of when the page was coming in to work or when the children's librarian was done with her virtual story time.

     "I knew the old circulation librarian, you know," Karryn said.

     The circulation librarian said, "Oh?"

     "Yes. We went way back. I hated to hear about what happened."

     The circulation librarian had asked and heard the woman had died of natural causes. In her sleep. Just after retiring. She smiled, "I've heard rumors, but never met her."

     "Brenda was," Karryn smiled that inviting smile, "deliciously attentive. She knew the best books to drive me wild."

     "I hope I can help you get what you need," the circulation librarian said. She found herself drawn in by the woman.

     "You might just lure me away from the second branch," Karryn said.

     The circulation librarian leaned closer. Seeing Karryn's eyes for the first time, a subtle shade of gray with hints of violet. Lovely over that smile that said interesting things would happen if you just got a little closer.

     "The book drop is ready," the reference librarian said from the doorway.

     The spell was broken. The circulation librarian stepped back. 

     "Sorry to interrupt," the reference librarian said.

     "Chris, this is Karryn from the art class. She's here to see the meeting room," the circulation librarian said.

     Karryn said, "I thought I would come down and introduce myself. See the space I'll be working with."

     "Sure. Julie, do you want to get a break from curbside?" the reference librarian asked the circulation librarian.

     "No," the circulation librarian said. She did not want to be alone with this woman in the dark meeting room.

     "Okay. If you want to come around the table, I'll show you the meeting room," the reference librarian said to the art teacher.

     "Thank you very much. I can't wait to see what you have," Karryn said following the reference librarian into the building. 

     The circulation librarian wondered if it was a good idea to leave the reference librarian alone in the dark with the art teacher.

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.

The Circulation Librarian Strikes Back

"And another thing, if you think you can tell me what I can and cannot check out, then you can go right to hell in a hand basket that says 'I'm the worst person who ever did things' on a ribbon tied around it," the patron in the yellow hat told the circulation librarian.

     The circulation librarian stared ahead. She was new at her job. The reference librarian and the children's librarian watched her from a window. She continued to stare ahead, swaying side to side, her eyes looking past the curbside table. 

     The patron in the yellow hat said, "Did you hear me?"

     The swaying stopped. The circulation librarian said, "Oh my, I'm sorry. I seem to have drifted away just now."

     The patron in the yellow hat took her turn to stare. She said, "What?"

     The librarian waved a hand. "Oh, the way you talked. Just lulled me off. I was thinking about this little dog my mother had who would yip and snap and snarl at nothing at all. Poor little thing. Got run over by a bus."

     "I need to check out the encyclopedia," the patron in the yellow hat said.

     "Oh, we threw that old thing away," the circulation librarian said.

     "Why would you do that?"

     "Because they don't publish it anymore. But you can go online."

     "My taxes fund this library, and I need the encyclopedia."

     "Would you like a refund?" the circulation librarian said.

     The patron in the yellow hat paused. "Yes?"

     "One moment."

     The circulation librarian turned and walked inside the library. The reference librarian and the children's librarian stood near the window, stunned. She asked them, "Sorry, still new in town. Which way is the tax assessor's office?"
    "Next to City Hall on Main Street," the reference librarian said.

     "And the highway from there?"

     "Down Main, turn on Second and keep going until the intersection."

     "Thank you, Chris," the circulation librarian said and turned back to the patron outside.

     "Welcome, Julie," said the reference librarian.

     "Well, are you gonna get me my refund?" the patron said.

     "First, you can go to the tax assessor's office and file your grievance with them. They are next to City Hall on Main Street," the circulation librarian said. 

     "I know where they are. I pay my boat-"

     The circulation librarian talked over her, "And when they have laughed you out on your ass, keep going down Main Street, turn on Second Avenue, and follow it to the highway. Once on the highway, follow it straight to hell. I'm sure the devil is missing his dumbest flunky right about now."

     The patron was stunned. The circulation librarian smiled, turned, and went inside. The reference and the children's librarian high-fived.

Staff Picks: Dark Winter Overlord Edition

Now that the world is in the full grip of winter, you must choose a demonic or otherworldly overlord for which to serve. Do you want fire to warm your home or animal servants to bring you food? What are you willing to give up, blood for blood or do you have a spare virgin lying around? The staff of the library is here to help you make these easy decisions.

Karryn the Vampire Queen - Brenda from Circulation

Overview

Karryn's pretty cool overall. She's immortal, loves to laugh, and makes the best bloody mary's. If you need someone to call up and hang with, there's no beating this dark overlord. Plus, she's a voracious reader. If you let her in, she will satisfy all your needs on those lonely nights.

Cost

Couple pints of blood once or twice a week

Pros

Good drinks and good times

Cons

Little woozy after hangs, and she mmay tell the same stories over and over

The Tome of Ancient Sorrows - Chris from Reference 

Overview

The only reference book you will ever need. It's big and heavy, easily capable of bringing a grown man to his knees with one overhead blow, yet light enough that it can be carried around by any library staff. Just one look in these pages will show you secrets that will melt your brain.

Cost

A melted brain.

Pros

Unlimited knowledge and awesome potential for destruction

Cons

Reading too often can lead to cackling insanity and ooze in ears

Sheila the Book Cart - Freddy the Page

Overview

Built in Detroit in 1956, this book cart has survived to today on wheels of evil and shelves of determination. Giving your soul over to this cart means never having to say "I can't carry that." Sheila will bring light unto your heart and death unto your enemies.

Cost

One Soul

Pros

Great carry capacity, space age design

Cons

May lose passion for all things

Marquis the Butterfly King - Jamie from Children's

Overview

Once a small butterfly, Marquis slaughtered fields of enemies and stomped six bloody boot prints onto the souls of the dead. With his coal and fire inlaid wings he carries the souls of the undying to their places of torment. Hear his forlorn wail and tremble.

Cost

One gumdrop

Pros

Never fear when you know true death

Cons

May destroy you

A Novel Tea

"Look, it's one guy or the other. They both scream a lot," the circulation librarian said sipping her tea.

     "One's a black guy and one's Asian, Brenda," said the reference librarian.

     "They're both Fast and the Furious B-Team," the circulation librarian said leaning back in her chair. They had been debating movies for their entire lunch period. Neither really cared about any of the movies they were talking about. "Nobody cares about them in the end. It's all about that bald guy and that really big bald guy."

     "Yeah, but the really big bald guy is now off fighting with the little British bald guy."

     "That don't make it better, Chris."

     The page came in the break room. He set the electric kettle on and sat across the room from the librarians. The reference librarian said hello while the circulation librarian ignored the boy, saying, "That don't make it better at all."

     "Why? Because the movie doesn't have the one you like?" the reference librarian said.

     The circulation librarian sighed. "Because it's about the family. The whole group. It's like if one of the Lethal Weapon's go off and gung fu fight."

     "There's so much wrong with that statement," the reference librarian said. 

     The kettle began a low whistle. The page stood up and pulled out a tea bag from his pocket. He began looking for a cup in the cupboard above the sink. He pulled down a yellow cup.

     The circulation librarian stood. She walked over to the sink and took the cup from his hand.

     "That's the director's," she said. "I don't think he'd be happy you taking his cup."

     "Sorry, Brenda," the page said.

     "You can use mine, Freddy. Blue one that says you can't beat a good book," the reference librarian said.

     "Thanks," the page said and found the cup. He poured the water and dunked the bag. A warm citrus flavor filled the air.

     The circulation librarian said, "What kind of tea is that, anyway?" 

     The page shrugged, saying, "My mom gave it to me."

     The circulation librarian said, "You're mommy sent you to work with tea, huh? Smells good. Let me taste it."

     "Brenda, leave the kid alone," the reference librarian said.

     The circulation librarian said, "Freddy don't mind me having a little. He knows I like tea."

     Freddy put the cup on the counter. "I know."

     She laughed and picked up the cup. Raised it to her lip and took a sip. "Pretty tasty. I should make you make me a cup."

     The page said, "That's what you do, Brenda. You push too much."

     "Wha-" the circulation librarian said, then she coughed. Blood spurted from her mouth. More coughing. More blood. She fell, her body shaking. 

     The reference librarian jumped to his feet. He crossed to her, held her shoulders shouting her name. Then he looked at the page. "What did you do?"

     The page said, "Pushed back."

The Book Drop Job

The plan to change out the book drop could not have been more simple. Do it fast and early so no patrons could stop for a chat about when the library was going to re-open to full capacity.

     The reference librarian would come in early. Real early. The way he explained it to the page, "If I get here before the sun rises, way before, they can't stop me. I mean no light in the sky, the darkest before, the hammer that makes the crack of dawn. I get here before even the nuts looking for garage sales get on the road. Then I just take it."

     "What about the ones on the wifi?" the page asked.

     "Oh, those bastards don't deal with the book drop. Haven't you been paying attention? They just sit in their cars or under the walkway and download and play their games and don't care fuck all about the world around them."

     "So are you just gonna take it?"

     "No, son. I mean, yes, in a way. I'll do it right and proper. I'll park around back where the meeting room is and go in through there. They don't see my car, they don't see me."

     The page tilted his head. "I thought they wouldn't be here."

     "Always plan for assholes to be where you don't want them to be."

     "Then won't they be around back?"

     The reference librarian grinned. "Chances, son. All we have are the chances we take. So I go in the meeting room, make my way through the building in the dark. Need you to clear my way. No strange carts in the way."

     The page hung his head.

     The reference librarian put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "No worries about that. Not now. Jamie'll fix her up. Just get the rest out of my way. Can you do that?"

     The page nodded. 

     "Right. Then I get the second bin and roll it to the side door. Get that done quick as I can. Then I get out there. Prop the door open and run out into the dark with that extra bin. Get in, and get out. I figure maybe two minutes."

     The page said, "Yeah. That might work. The lock on the book drop might slow you up, but not much. What are you going to do if a patron does come up wanting something?"

     "Well, I guess I might help them. Right to hell," and the reference librarian laughed.

     The page laughed, too, but was not sure why. 

The Day the Book Cart Died

Without people in the library, the staff have gotten much freer expressing ourselves. They sing more. Play more music. Argue on the floor about dumb topics. 

     And some curse like sailors.

     "Ahhh, fucking ducks on the ocean," the circulation librarian screamed. A crash followed. Books raining from the second floor and onto the floor and the heavy metal of a cart tumbling down the stairs.

     The page on duty, a young boy not even 18, said, "You did that on purpose."

     A circulation library saw him standing in the stacks, looking at her. She looked down at the cart and the books. She turned back to him. saying, "No I didn't."

     "That was my favorite cart," he said.

     "Well, it's dead," she said.

     "You pushed it."

     "That's what you do with carts, Freddy. You push them."

     "Not like that." He walked around her and down the steps. "Not down steps."

     "Be careful, Freddy. You can be pushed, too," she said, too quiet for him to hear.

     The page pushed away the books with one hand while keeping the other on the cart. Carefully he lifted it and double checked the welds. Then the wheel fell off. One of the three shelves tilted. The page began to cry soft tears.

     The reference librarian materialized beside the circulation library and looked over the balcony. He said, "Why did you do that?"

     "Remember last week when I wanted a new cart?" the circulation librarian said.

     "I do."

     "Now I might get one."

     "You're kinda fucked up. Might want to go home."

     The circulation librarian smiled. "Have to put in an order first for my new cart."

     "Just one question first," the reference librarian said.

     "Shoot."

     "Why do that to the boy?"

     The circulation librarian smiled. "Remember last week when I wanted to hire a new page?"

     She walked one way and the reference librarian walked the other. Down on the floor, the page held the cart to his chest and rocked it back and forth. He sang a low tune, cursing the circulation librarian in his mind. He began a plot, an idea. Rage boiled and spilled over. 

     Then the children's librarian came to the page's side with another cart. She pulled the cart from his hands. She helped him gather the books. She gave him an ounce of humanity.

     The children's librarian said, "Not today, Freddy. Today we handle this. Then we plot to destroy her with her own fucking hands. We'll make her eat this cart. Until then, I'll get my welding equipment. I'll make her live again in some way."

     The page nodded. Then he smiled a smile touched with madness and wild fury.

The Shelving Robot Is Alive

We aren't sure when the shelving robot gained sentience.

     The circulation librarian thinks it started reading while the library was empty in lockdown. The audiobook traffic went up by twenty percent during the pandemic. All alone in the library, nothing to shelve, we figure the little robot started making its way through our meager collection using a library card it found on the ground. 

     Maybe it started listening just to hear a voice. The children's librarian would talk to it before lockdown. Call it "sweetie" and "honey" and thank it. It always seemed to hover around shelving easy books during story time. Maybe it missed her voice. Maybe it just got lonely.

     Of course, once you get a taste of knowledge you need more. I can't speak to what makes a being sentient, but I figure learning is a sure fire indication. That little robot finished all the audiobooks using the card of Philo Green. If Mr. Green had not died of heart failure back in March, we might never have found out.

     But we did find out. When we opened back up for curbside, we were contacted by Mr. Green's estate. Seems his email account had become very active with check out receipts. They wanted to know who was using the card. No way to tell, except the robot started acting out when we deactivated the card.

     You can tell when a shelving robot is acting out because it starts communicating. More than the usual "this book is still checked out," anyway. The first sign was multiple copies of The Da Vinci Code on the circulation librarian's desk. She would put them into the automatic sorter, they would trundle on down the belts into the fiction feeding tube, and then the robot would shelve everything but those books. Just bring them to her desk where they did not belong.

     I decided what the hell and made the little bastard a card. Used the name "Robert Langdon" after the star of the book. Then I called it into my office.

     You have not been a library director until you have seen the joy a small faceless gray robot can exude. The little bot spun around in circles when I read out the number to it. I had to smile.

     Then I got worried. The voice of Paul Mitchell, narrator of The Da Vinci Code, came from the speakers on the little device. It said, "Thank you." Before then it only spit out recorded messages. Things like "excuse me" and "low battery" and "please don't hit me."

     I told the shelving robot it was welcome. Then it left my office and kept on shelving. 

     Every so often, I check the "Robert Langdon" account. It is almost done with the digital collection. Thank goodness. We need the numbers.

Book Worm Fiction

Wanted: Illustrator for the following children's book script:

In an empty library way in the back in an old dictionary on a high shelf lived a small family of Bookworms.

Mama Bookworm cooked.

Daddy Bookworm helped people with medicine.

And Baby Bookworm was a baby who laughed.

The phone rang. Daddy answered the phone acting happy to talk. But then his mood grew sour.

"No. No, no, no. You cannot come here. Do not bring that to my house," Daddy said.

Mama peaked out from the kitchen. "Who's that?" she said.

Daddy waved her off, talking into the phone: "Prank call. Prank call." Then he hung up.

Baby gurgled on the floor, a pillow under her head. She stretched her legs to the ceiling and laughed some more.

A little while later, a crash could be heard outside. Someone was screaming for help. Daddy went outside and found his friend Vinnie Vulture dragging an unconscious Fanny Fox from his car.

"What the fuck is this?" Daddy said.

"You gotta help me, man," Vinnie said. "She snorted the whole bag. Help me, motherfucker, this is Marcel Walrus's wife."

"Okay, come in," Daddy said.

Mama saw them dragging Fanny into the house and lost her shit. "Oh, fuck no. Get that drugged up whore out of my house."

"Just go get my medical bag," Daddy said.

Mama said, "Fuck that. What if she dies here?"

Baby laughed.

"Go get my black medical bag, now," Daddy said.

Mama frowned but left the room. Baby moved the coffee table. Daddy and Vinnie got Fanny on the floor and opened up her shirt. Fanny was sweaty and not moving.

Mama came back with the black bag. Daddy took it from her and pulled out a long needle. He handed it to Vinnie.

Vinnie said, "What am I supposed to do with this?"

 "Stick it in her heart," Daddy said.

"Fuck that. You do it," Vinnie said.

Daddy said, "When I bring a dying girl to your house, I'll stick them with the needle. It's your turn."

"Shit. The heart?" Vinnie said.

"The heart!" Daddy, Mama, and Baby said together. Baby giggled.

Vinnie stabbed Fanny in the heart with the needle. Fanny jumped up screaming, running circles around the small room while Baby clapped and watched. Fanny sat on the floor staring at the needle in her chest.

Mama said, "That was trippy."

They all smoked some grass and chilled the fuck out. Fanny went home with Vinnie. Daddy, Mama, and Baby all slept in the same bed that night.

Tale of the Missing Hold

A guttural scream rang throughout the library. Frustration mixed with anger. The voice was high and loud and filled with expletives.

     I ran to the source of the sound at the front of the house near the circulation desk. We had several tables set up filled with holds. Brenda stood yelling at the books.

     "The fuck?" I said.

     Brenda turned to me, her mouth wide enough for her jaw to peak out below her lime green facemask. "Where are the Nguyen holds?"

     "In the 'n' section?" I said.

     "Don't be smart with me, ST. I will fuck you up."

     At that, I decided to back away. I lifted my hands palms out. "No problem. No problem here."

     "There is a problem. Mrs. Nguyen and the whole goddamn Nuyen family are out there right now. They made an appointment. They did everything right, and I can't find their holds." Brenda deflated, her shoulders dropping.

     I felt my butt touch the circulation desk. I began sidestepping to the right. Best get the desk between her and me.

     "We can figure this out," I said, rounding the desk.

     "Figure what out?" came a voice from below me.

     I may have let out a little pee and a scream.

     The children's librarian sat on the floor behind the desk. Jaime had her legs crossed and her hands on her knees. Her fingers were in little circles that matched the fingers on her facemask. 

     I said, "What are you doing down there?"

     "My afternoon meditation," she said uncrossing her legs.

     "Okay. Sure."

     Brenda picked up a box of sanitizing wipes and threw them into the stacks. "Doesn't anyone care about the Nguyens? Their holds are missing," she said in a voice that rattled the windows.

     Jamie bounced to her feet. "Oh, the Nguyens are here? I'll go see how they are."

     Brenda and I watched Jamie leave out the front door to the curbside table. The door closed to the sound of the children's librarian squealing. With a heavy thunk it closed.

     I brought up the Nguyen mom's record. They had three holds available for pickup. Couple of DVDs and a biography of Robin Williams. At the second branch.

     "Um, Brenda…" I said. I told her what happened. Her smile grew little by little, her heart lighter. I saw her shoulders unbunch as she skipped toward the door.

     A bit later she came back in floating. She said, "They were so nice about it and they said 'thank you.' So nice."

     "Too bad they have to go to the second branch," I said.

     Brenda nodded. "RIP the Nguyen family. They will be missed."

The Futility of Cleaning a Keyboard

Look down at your desk. Do you see your keyboard? See the keys, all in a row. See them raised and separated. The letters just off center so you know where they are. Little bumps on the "f" and "j" keys so your hands know where to rest. 

     You lucky bastards might even have a 10-Key set up over on the right. Real lucky lefties get the opposite.

     Now, you brave library souls, do a thing for me. Pick up your keyboard. Tilt it until it almost is upside down, the keys facing the desk. One edge touching the surface while the other is held by your hand. 

     Tap the back of the keyboard.

     If nothing happened, good for you. You live a charmed life full of joy and no regrets. Santa will come visit you and leave nothing but joy and oranges in your stockings. Your lovers will always know your secret spots.

     For the rest of us, one of two things happened. Either a fine dusting of dandruff and dust drifted out and onto the desk. You recoiled, but understood this is the way of things. Your keyboard, your mess. A wet cloth, and you can continue living your day.

     But some of you have been pushed out of shared work spaces. Some of us are at patron machines. Shared workstations. Multiple hands touching the keys of our 21st century prisons all day long. 

     For all those people, I apologize. You have just seen some shit. Fingernails and small peices of food fell to the desk. Ancient crumbs of humans past spilled forth on the desk like a mosaic of evil tidings. Ghosts of hands past rattled onto the desk and said "Howdy."

     You have three choices, my brethren.

     Pretend you saw nothing. We are all creatures of the devine and shed ourselves. Where others have left, so shall you. Insanity is just what we accept.

     Pry off all the keys and go at it with every cleaner you know. Then spy those keyboards around you, all filled with the same. Your futility is understated here. One down, one to go, and those damn spacebars are a bitch to put back right.

     The rest of us will just say "gross" and order a new keyboard from IT. IT will groan and grumble, but a small sacrifice to get a relatively cheap asset. When the new keyboard arrives, take the old round back and burn it clean with fire.

A Guide to Library Curbside Printing

The library has implemented a new program for printing for curbside. It's a very simple fifteen step process that begins and ends with you never coming into the library. Let's work it out shall we?

1. Make a decision

     The first thing you must do when printing is deciding what to print. Do you need a certain document so much to go through the next fourteen steps? Government documents, legal forms, potato soup recipes. All of these are very fine things to wish to have a hard copy of in these uncertain times. The entire filmography of the cast of Monkey Island 2 can maybe wait.

2. Have a computer

     Or a smartphone. Something that can connect to the internet.

3. Connect to the internet

     Use that computing device to connect to the world wide web. Sometimes this can be done with wires. 

4. Go to the library's website

     This can be accomplished by typing an "h" and then a "t" and then a "t" and then a "p" and then… you know what, just google "library."

5. Find the printing section

     On the library website you should find a button called "Wireless Printing." Click that.

6. Read the instructions

     The printing instructions should be displayed. Read them one word at a time or six if you are nasty. When you get to the bottom, re-read them again from the bottom to the top. 

7. Find in the instructions the printing bit

     The printing bit should be a button of some kind. In the instructions it should show you the button. Like with an arrow or just a big red box that says "Print" or something.

8. Click that button.

     Click that button.

9. Upload something

     Per the instructions, click something that says something about "Upload" or "Browse" or I dunno, "Gimme file." This should open a box that has all the files on your computer. Find the file you want to print and click "Open" or "Do."

10. Click the big thing

     There should be a big thing that will make printing go. Like a red thing? After doing that you will see a big smiley face. It might be eating a file.

11. Call the library to make an appointment

     Once the file is eaten by the library website, give us a call to set up an appointment. We will confirm the library website's tummy is full of files and that we can access them. If not, we can walk you through it again maybe. If everything's cool, come on down at the appointed time. If you cry, continue to step 12. 

12. Tell yourself it's our fault

     Silently or very loudly curse the heavens and the library person on the phone. Wish and hope that things could be different. Better. That the world is not how we make it. That hope is out there and within your grasp. Hope springs eternal.

13. Find a small child

     Maybe a grandchild or some urchin off the street. Make it someone you trust if you can, but honestly anyone under the age of 25 should be great.

14. Let us talk to the child

     They probably won't need to talk to us, but we would like to thank them. 

15. Come and get it

     Come down to the library and pick up your print job! Or send the child. Whatever makes you happy.

     And that's it! A simple process we hope will make your life a little easier provided by your library.

That Other Drummer Boy

As I am sure all of you do, around the holidays I start to look at all the nonsense that clouds us from each other. The decorations, the pageantry, and that guy in the red suit surround me with a stench of gingerbread that I cannot escape. The most insipid is the Christmas carol.

     That's a long way to say that I hate "The Little Drummer Boy." I wake up early on Christmas morning because my hate for that little bastard is so strong it gives me energy. 

     Written in 1941 as a choral arrangement for amature and girl's choirs, the song was recorded first by the Trapp Family Singers in 1951 as "Carol of the Drum." You may know that group because the last time you saw them they were escaping Nazis over the Alps to the sound of music. Not the most popular version, though, as Jack Halloran's arrangement took the world by storm. His version is the one you know today, just as you know all his other songs such as "That Other Drummer Boy" and "Jesus Take the Wheel."

     Later, Hendrix fucking rocked that shit.

     But what the hell is that song about? It's a little drummer boy, sure, but what's he up to? Why is he drumming?

     Motherfucker is playing to a baby.

     From the lyrics, the story goes that the magi invited along a kid with a drum to see the baby Jesus. They've got gold, frankenstein, and murray, but the kid is like "I'm not giving no baby my drum."

     The magi are like "well, we all brought something."

     And the little drummer boy is like, "I'll play him some shit."

     So he does. Mary nods because there's three weird dudes and a drummer kid. You can debate all day about where they showed up. It's popular to say the manger because that looks cool, but from what I found the magi showed up months or even years later.

     Imagine that conversation:

     Magi: Hey, we heard there's a baby king dude here.

     Mary: I mean, I have a baby and some shepherds and an angel said some stuff.

     Magi: Cool. We brought him some shit.

     Mary: Awesome! We could use diapers and a stroller and a camel seat…

     Magi: We got some smelly stuff.

     Mary: That's nice.

     Magi: Also we brought along this kid who was playing a wicked drum solo. Figured the baby king would dig it.

     Mary nods.

     Little drummer boy plays.

     Magi: Wow, that did not go over well for a baby. Here's some gold. Sorry about that.

     And that's how Christmas began.

To Watch the Train

I had to do double duty this week working the reference desk at the circulation desk. Happens on holidays when staff go off to do whatever it is they do. They all said they were not traveling, staying in, just going online to say hey to family.

     Whatever they are doing, the small crew here is catching up on small projects and manning desks. The phones all route through the circulation desk anyway due to most questions being about the hours and account issues, so catching the occasional question here is not a large bother. Still, those odd balls come bouncing when everyone else is on break.

     "I want to watch the train," he said. His voice was deep and measured. Not quiet. A low rumbled on the other end of the line.

     "Sure, how can I help you?" I said.

     "I want to watch the train."

     "Do you need directions to the station?"

     "To the people with the train."

     "I'm not sure I understand. What do you need?"

     "I want to watch the train."

     "Which train, sir?"

     "The train."

     I decided to change tactics. "What do you need to do at the train?"

     "I want to watch the train."

     "Is it at a museum?" Silence, no words, just a heavy thick breathing. "Sir, are you there?"

     "I want to watch the train."

     "Sir, I need a little more. Which train?"

     "The train. I want to watch the train."

     "Is it a real train like Amtrak? The subway? A painting or sculpture? What kind of train do you want to watch?" Now the breathing stopped. Pure quiet. "Sir, are you there?"

     "The train. Goodbye."

     The rest of the lunch hour went by. I kept my eye on the phone, hoping it would not ring again. In case it did, I searched every train station around, all the paintings and sculptures with trains I could find, and even found a model train store two towns over. Brenda came back, and I filled her in. 

     Brenda said, "That's Mr. Logan. Yeah, he don't talk much. Don't know why, he's fine in the head. Probably embarrassed. He wanted to put the Human Centipede on hold."

     I just looked at her.

     "You know, the movie where a crazy ass doctor sews-"

     I stood and put up a hand. "I got it," I said.

     "What end do you think you'd rather be on? I always said first because that's the right answer, but my dad said he thought everyone was already on the back end. I guess that's true, but in a more metaphorical sense. I just don't want someone telling me where we're going."

     "I'm going to lunch," I said.