I love libraries. I don’t own a library card. I did once. I think, when I was in the fourth grade. I guess you could say it’s been awhile. I don’t actually check out books because of the previous fact, but I do love libraries.
Full disclosure, I didn’t go to read today. I went on a mission. The little CEO in my head offered me a ‘good merit’ pay raise if I went. So at precisely 9:00 A.M., Dad dropped me off in front of the greatly statured revolving doors of the book grocery. I stepped inside with my head on my shoulders-wait. I cracked my neck. Pop!
Yep.
It’s still there.
Ceiling to floor shelves were arranged in a domino manner. I ran my hand along the dusty edge; one push and I could knock them all down. Another time, maybe. But now I was on a mission. I started in the Sci-Fi section. I ran my hand across the spines. I leaned back, and observed the surroundings. There was a little boy (about nine) reading Steven Hawking’s History of Time with his mother reading over his shoulder, a look of utter confusion washed over her face. Sniff. It smelled like Trekkies.
I pulled out The Highest Frontier with my index finger. Hm. Looked like a good one, too bad I liked mystery better. It was a thick book and I split the pages in half, p.459. I sat down, my back propped against the shelf. I slid the post-it notes out of my back pocket and the lavender sharpie as well.
Have a Great Day, I scribbled, curling the y around the note. I stuck it in the middle of the page. My arm stretched as high up as it could, while in my seated position, I threw the novel back into place. Picked up another one, Ufo International Journal. On this one I wrote the lyrics to my favorite song. Done and done. And I slid it back into place. The shelf across from me was Chick Lit. I leaned over and grabbed a book from that selection.
“Pirate Fantasy.” I whispered. That was so lame on a multitude of levels. But never the less, I turned to the title page and stuck in a pale pink frosty note that read:
There aren’t actually pirates in this book, just sexist sailors.
Too harsh? I doubt it. But it was a little bit of a stray from my usual “you’re hella rad” notes. Yes. I have done this before. Once, with my dad. I shook my head. Time to focus on the here-and-now.
The next victim was Forever Yours, a teen romance novel that I would never read, although I read the first chapter to make sure it wasn’t my type.
Cough.
I opened up to the third chapter, called Ever and stuck in a note that said:
You don’t need a prince to be a princess
It was a little cheesy for my taste, and as I stuck the book between two others I wondered if I should have made it less specific in case it was boys too who would read it. Too late, I thought ruefully.
For the following few minutes, I mowed through the bottom shelf. Note after note, I wrote song lyrics and hopeful praise. Was I a saint? Hell no. But everyone deserves a little surprise, without surprises, how mundane life would be.
I was one my first book of the second shelf, Mayday, when a dusty shadow grew on the pages of my book. Could it be? A living creature?
I looked up.
Oh.
Wow.
