Bibliorebel

I left work tonight and was pleasantly surprised by the cool air that hit me as I opened the door. I decided to go downtown and visit the library. I parked a few blocks away and walked to enjoy what the near middle of October feels like. I skirted along the edge of a giant church (all churches smell the same--old--I can't believe anything else--I could smell this one from the street,) small brick homes that were slightly overeaten with weeds, and apartments for the elderly, to name a few landmarks.

The Cary library is not so pretty. It looks like a ranch-style house; unforgivingly one level and lengthy. I suppose what matters are the books inside the guts of it. I shouldn't judge my library by its cover? Ah-HA!

The vestibule of any library is almost my favorite part--after the books. Tonight on my way out I picked up an Independent Weekly and the Catalog of Spring 2006 Classes for Wake Tech. If I were a senior citizen, an African American, a woman over 50, or looking for a job, I would have hit the jackpot. Or if I were really lucky and was a really old black woman who needed a gig, I would have had more free info-odicals that I would know what to do with.

But, my two appropriate picks and the four books I got was plenty. The library almost seems too good to be true. Maybe it's because I really like information.

I think I've always been that way. My most vivid childhood memories are not of family vacations or broken bones or slumber parties; they are of taking off on my own, usually ending up on the cool tile floor of the library. I think the most upset my mother ever got with me was when she sent me to the grocery store for ice cream and I didn't come back for a few hours. The library was right next to the grocery store. I was five, there were rows and rows of books to be looked at...who cared about ice cream!? She sent a neighbor to look for me. I hid well in the back corner of the library, sitting with legs crossed Indian-style, the cover of the book on my left leg, it's back on my right. It sat just perfectly and so did I. When I got back to the home, sans ice cream, my mother said she was not mad at me, just very disappointed. I think that hurt worse.

I upset Karen at a library once. I must have been 11 or 12. She dropped me off at the library in downtown Durham for a few hours during summer break. While sitting outside waiting for her, I noticed a rat. He wasn't moving very much. He looked sick and his breathing was labored. I picked him up and tried to care for him through good thoughts. He seemed paralyzed except for breathing. I thought he needed water so I pledged to take him home and make him well. When Karen arrived, she told me to put the nasty rat down and go wash my hands. I hated to leave him, but it was clear that he wasn't coming home with us. I lay him in the shade where it was at the least, cooler.

Happily, tonight's library outing did not result in discovery of diseased rodents, or angry mothers upon return. Just Marshall, rolling over, belly up, as soon as I opened the door.