Lisa Gardner - Catch Me

When he’d begged and pleaded and nearly cried with frustration, she’d finally said she’d take him at four, when she got off the phone, because she had some school research she needed to do. Plus, Jesse had said they were studying libraries at school and he was supposed to write three sentences on his favorite library, which is why he needed to go. So they would ride the subway together, to the central branch of the Boston Public Library, then maybe have dinner at the food court in the Pru Center. A big night out, said his mom.

She’d looked happy about that. A little excited, planning their evening adventure, and that had made Jesse feel bad ’cause he was lying. But he wasn’t lying too much. He really would write three sentences and they could go to dinner in the mall, but first he really, really, really needed to meet Pink Poodle and learn how to hit a curveball.

At 3:55, he put on his big fat winter coat, then a fresh pair of dry socks, then his boots, his hat and gloves. By 3:59 he was standing next to the door, poofed out three times his natural size, clutching Zombie Bear, and ready to go.

Except his mother hadn’t gotten off the phone.

She was talking and talking and talking (“Just a minute, Jesse!” “Jesse, shhh!” “Interrupt me one more time, young man, and no library!”)

Jesse was now too hot. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and he hopped from foot to foot because he had to pee, but he didn’t want to get unbundled, because his mother might hang up the phone any second, then it would be time to leave, and they needed to go.

He walked little circles in front of the door, spent time jumping over the piles of shoes. Jump, jump, jump, the world’s smallest obstacle course.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon!

Then, when he thought he couldn’t take it a second more, his mother appeared in the hallway.

“Jesse? Ready to go?”

“Ahhhhh!” he nearly screamed, then bolted for the bathroom before his bladder burst.

When he returned, still overheated, but slightly less crazed, his mother was just finishing buttoning up her coat. Without another word, he followed her down the three flights of stairs into the cold.

Jesse liked the city at night. He liked the lights everywhere, different colors and shapes that bounced off the low-hanging clouds and made the city look like a fun house. He especially liked a night like this one, when the snow was drifting down in big fat flakes, that you could catch on your tongue and feel melt into droplets of rust-flavored water.

Jesse’s mother walked briskly toward the subway stop three blocks away. Jesse darted around her, pretending he was a frost monster, powered by snow, running at the icy flakes, snapping at them with his mouth until his mother told him sharply, to stop it before he hurt himself.

Then he trotted along beside her, subdued but still happy, because they were finally going to the library and the city was all lit up and there were people everywhere, and surely that meant Pink Poodle would still be hunched over a computer in the Boston Public Library, because it was that kind of night. Cold and busy and bustling.

Zombie Bear’s bandaged head poked out of his pocket, the undead homerun hitter along for the ride.

It took forever to finally reach the main branch of the Boston Public Library, on Boylston Street. Technically it was two buildings; the historic McKim Building and the newer Johnson Building. Jesse loved the 160-year-old McKim Building, with its massive stone arches and ornate carvings and the kind of long, shadowed halls that hinted of ghosts and gargoyles. The McKim had mostly the research stuff, however-government documents, historic papers. Jesse and his mom headed for the Johnson Building instead. It was built in the seventies and, according to his mom, looked it. Jesse didn’t much care for the outside, but the inside was pretty cool. It had a special kids’ area, even a teen room.

Maybe he would need to visit the teen room. Maybe, that’s where Pinky Poo hung out. Jesse hadn’t thought of that.

He fingered Zombie Bear. Told himself he wasn’t nervous. Grabbed his mom’s hand and trotted up the steps.

In the lobby, his mother laid out the plan. She had some nursing homework to do. She walked him to the section she needed, showed him exactly where she would be. He was allowed to go to the kids’ section. He could pick some books, then he was to return right here , where he could look at his books while she finished her project. He could write up his homework, too. Then, they’d go to dinner.

Jesse nodded solemnly. They had been coming to the library since he was a baby. He knew the drill.

He kissed his mom. Maybe hugged her harder than he usually did. Then he headed down the stairs to the first-floor children’s room.

JESSE KNEW THE LIBRARY WELL. Sometimes, on rainy days, his mother would bring him here to “explore,” her library-speak for going someplace free where a young boy could run around without old Mrs. Flowers yelling about stampeding elephants.

When Jesse had turned six, he and his mother had first started separating. Partly because she’d gone to school and she had her own work to do, but also because Jesse had noticed other kids in the library without hovering moms, and decided he no longer wanted to be embarrassed by his. At first, his mother had waited outside the section. Then, bit by bit, they’d gone their separate ways.

The children’s room made a big deal about not allowing “unattended adults.” Meaning adults couldn’t just roam the section without a kid in tow. This was meant to discourage loiterers, Jesse’s mom said, as well as reduce stranger danger. It seemed to make her feel better about Jesse being in the room on his own.

There was always a librarian in charge of the kids’ section. If Jesse had any problems, or felt nervous about stranger danger, he was to approach the librarian for assistance. But Jesse had never had any problems. He loved the library. The big vast space with towering shelves and piles of books, and people who sat and read and left you alone, so you could pretend you were an explorer in the lost wilds of the Congo and at any moment a giant ape might swing out from between the narrow aisles, or an alligator snap from beneath a reading bench, or a snake unfurl from a hanging lamp.

But Jesse didn’t play explorer now. He headed for the computers in the children’s room. They sat at various little desk cubbies and all were in use. He spotted one girl, but she looked even younger than him and was playing some Dora the Explorer game, while her father stared at a cell phone beside her.

Not too many computers in the children’s room. Jesse hadn’t really thought about that. But upon more consideration, he figured Pink Poodle was older and, therefore, might be in the teen room up on the mezzanine level. He’d never been in the teen room, but the library was very proud of it. He’d seen pictures on posters, advertising a room for teens to hang out. It had crazy red gaming chairs and a big red-and-purple patterned carpet that apparently teens liked, but which made Jesse’s eyes hurt.

He found the stairs, headed up. He could do it. Just open the door and walk right in like any other kid. Of course he was in the teen room. Of course he belonged there.

Jesse made it to the door and hit the first obstacle: a sign declaring that only kids younger than eighteen and older than twelve could enter. Anyone older or younger might be asked to leave.

Maybe being asked to leave wasn’t the same as leaving, Jesse decided. He took a deep breath. Walked in.

The room was crowded. Teens and laptops and huge windows showing city lights and red chairs and crazy carpets, and Jesse got so revved up he forgot to breathe and then the whole room swam before his eyes.