Help, Our Library Is Missing!
I’m panicking, I can’t find our public library. Nobody can tell me where it is and they don’t seem to care.
The crisis started when I found a book under the bed. That was odd since we usually don’t keep books in our house. It was obviously old and covered with dust. The cellophane over the cover had yellowed and I couldn’t read the title. I opened the book with care and the binding cracked. The information inside left me aghast. It said property of the Himmler County Public Library and there was a card with a stamped due date of August 8, 2017.
I flipped out as I calculated a potential fine. Perhaps there was an amnesty program. Where was the library, I didn’t remember. Fortunately there was an address stamped in the book and I drove there with great expectations of finding the building. There was the parking lot. I circled it, and circled it and circled it. Bordering the lot was a splash pad, a dog park, a concert pavilion and a pickleball court. No library, though.
Stumped, I Googled the address and no results came back. I spelled and mis-spelled the address several times with no luck. Even left off the name of our state. Zilch.
How could I find it? I’m old-school and thought of the police. They used to give people directions. So I called them.
“I need help,” I said. “I can’t find the library.”
“Spell the name, please”
“L-i-b-r-a-r-y.”
“When did you last see Ms. Library?” the dispatcher asked.
“Summer 2017 and its ‘library’,” I responded. “Where they keep books.”
“You’re just calling about this now? She keeps bookies and cooks the books? That’s illegal.” He asked for my name and address. I gave him my neighbor’s, we could sort that out later.
My mind was racing, who else could help me find the library? I had to return this book before it was way too late. Inspiration hit, my best friend was a teacher — surely she could help.
“Amy, I need to return a book. Do you know where our library is?”
“No. You can just click the ‘check in’ button on the library’s website though. That’ll return it,” she said.
“That won’t work. This is a real book, one made of paper,” I clarified.
“A what? We don’t have those at my school,” Amy was horrified. “They closed the school library years ago. Hell, we barely teach our kids how to read anymore.”
Amy did provide a lead though. She had met a woman at the recycling center where Amy brought the last of her family’s books. That woman wanted to know if she could look through the bags and take any books of interest. Amy agreed and in the process learned the woman used to be a librarian.
I went searching for that lady at the recycling center. Luck smiled and I found her with another bag of books. She was hunched over checking for “discarded” stamps and due dates.
“I understand you’re a former librarian. Can you tell me where our library is?” I asked.
She scowled as she studied me and made a cautious decision. “If you follow me, I’ll take you there.”
We drove for what seemed like hours on crumbling roads and past vacant buildings. Then there it was, a once regal building now rapidly decaying into rubble. It was now in the middle of my town’s historic district. We parked, clawed through the brush until we were at the door.
The librarian turned the doorknob and it broke off in her hand. We entered and walked through the gloom to the front desk. There she opened a card file and found my name and that of the book I’d checked out — “How To Be Better Organized.”
“Your book is overdue. But there is a debt forgiveness program,” she said. “So no charge.”
Thank goodness, the fine could have been horrific. Yet things didn’t feel quite right. Sheepishly I gave the lady $10 and suggested she get a new doorknob.
As I turned and walked toward the door, I heard the following prayer hanging softly in the musty air.
“Please come again.” I wondered if many do.
