Michael Guillebeau - MAD Librarian - You Gotta Fight for Your Right to Library

“I am so goddamned mad at all of this,” she screamed.

The spectators had probably figured that out, and were staying out of her way.

Except for one. A scratched-up pickup truck with big wheels pulled up beside her in the turn lane of the three-lane road. She glanced over and caught a quick image of a figure in a baseball cap and a camo shirt at the wheel. He tipped the hat and grinned at her.

She screamed, “That’s not a goddamned passing lane.” He didn’t look over. As she was holding down the button to roll down her window so he could hear her words of wisdom, the truck tapped her minivan and she had to fight for control.

She screamed, “Jesus Christ,” but he ignored her even with her window down.

The truck slammed her harder and two wheels of the minivan slid off the road.

This was real. She got cold and calm fast.

She fought the urge to jerk the wheel, and instead eased off of the gas, gently turning the wheels until the minivan bumped back onto the road. She caught a quick glance down the long, steep hill to the right. Nothing to stop her until she hit bottom.

The truck separated a few feet from her van but he was just trading space to gain power. He came back hard for the knockout punch.

Serenity stood on the brakes as hard as she could and fought to keep control. As soon as the truck’s bed was even with the front of her minivan, she released the brakes and swung the wheel as hard as she dared to the left and smashed the heavy front of her minivan into the lighter bed of the truck.

The truck spun as if in slow motion, dropping tail-first down the hill with the cab clawing at the edge of the road like a man clinging to a cliff, clinging until he lost his grip and the truck slid down the hill. She slowed and watched as the truck picked up speed, not quite flipping until it slammed into a small stand of pine trees next to the huge Cabela outdoor store.

Serenity pulled over and watched the truck’s door, not sure whether she wanted someone to come out or not. The door opened and a man got out and ran for the store.

She sat watching for a minute, then turned around and went back down the hill to the store. She parked in the lot and examined her crumpled front fender before heading inside.

She stepped in the door and stopped, staring at a gigantic cavern of shirts, jeans, guns, fishing poles—basically, anything you might need to kill any animal.

A young man came up to her. “We have a very fine lady’s deer rifle on sale today, ma’am.”

“Uh, no. I’m looking for a man who just came in here. Average height, a little heavy. Kind of nondescript. Wearing jeans and a camo shirt and a ball cap.”

The young man sighed. “Like everything else in here, if we’ve got one of them, we’ve got a hundred.”

He waved his arm at a store full of men dressed in camo, with a flannel shirt here and there for variety.

SERENITY TOOK HER MINIVAN to Zell’s Auto Repair and Discount Tobacco Store out in the woods down Stockard Road. Roger Zell looked at it and pulled on his tobacco-stained beard.

“Roger, I’ve got to get this fixed, fast. A day or two, no more.”

Roger was a small, skinny man. He squinted up at her skeptically. “And you can’t tell Joe that I… uh… hit the mailbox.”

He spat a long brown stream. “Looks like you hit the whole damned post office.”

She looked at him pleadingly as Doom pulled up.

“I’ll do the best-est I can. Tomorrow. End of the day. But the paint will still be wet.”

She kissed him on top of his head and dashed to Doom’s car.

“What the hell?” said Doom.

“Drive.” She told her about the Good Government fund.

“After that,” Serenity said, “Franklin’s answers to questions about the Good Government fund were mostly ‘Yes, ma’am’ and ‘No, ma’am’ and polite groveling evasions. No more information, but at least I didn’t raise any suspicions. Maybe, at least until he realizes that the other check didn’t bounce.”

“And then he followed you out to the parking lot and beat the hell out of your car with a sledgehammer?”

“Of course not.” Serenity told her about the rest of the morning’s adventure. Doom yelped and raised her hand in a high-five. “Hero.”

Serenity left the high-five hanging. “I don’t know, Doom. I lost my temper. I could have killed that man.”

“We’re in a war, Ms. Hammer. By any means necessary.”

Serenity shook her head. “I get so tired of that line. It sounds like just another excuse for more macho bullshit like guns and trucks and strutting and hurting. We ought to have something better.”

“We have ass-kicking in high heels.”

Serenity said, “Oh, yeah. That intimidated camo guy back there.” She thought a minute. “Doom, find me a pay phone on the way back to the library.”

“Pay phone? What is this, the eighteen-hundreds?”

“They didn’t have… never mind. Try a convenience store or two.”

It took a couple of tries, but they found one. Serenity dialed a number.

“Doris? Serenity, up in Maddington. Good, but listen: I’ve got something important and I’ve got to talk fast. Remember last year, when the governor was paying his mistress with state library funds? We ran down the information and fed it to the papers? I need the same librarian superpowers now, but I think it’s even bigger. You’ll need to get the Birmingham and Mobile libraries in, too. And keep it quiet. And when you get something, don’t call me at the library, call me at home. Late at night. Now, here’s what I know… ”

Serenity and Doom drove back to the library and went to Doom’s desk.

“Doom, I need you to open an off-the-books library account. With these.”

She handed Doom the checks.

Doom whistled. “You’re turning into a pretty good Robin Hood. A week ago, we’d have killed for this—sorry, figure of speech. But do we really need this now?”

“Not in Special Projects.”

Serenity went into her office. For Whom the Bell Tolls was still on her desk.

She sat down and turned to the computer on her side table, but something about the book at her elbow bothered her. The title referenced John Dunne’s poem, the need to stand for something more than your own little island, and focused on Hemingway’s Robert Jordan’s fight in a civil war against fascists in a country a thousand miles from his own safe home.

So this was her fight, such as it was. With books and dollars instead of bullets, at least for now. She looked at the computer screen. The first thing was the list of books requested by patrons and librarians. Usually, she ordered the few she could afford that had the most votes.

Serenity looked at the window with the Special Funds balance, selected all the books on the list and clicked “Order.” Then she clicked all the recommended books from the Library Journal . After, she sat back, smiled, and felt as if she had shot a brigade of fascists.

She next took a sip of her coffee and opened her email. Scanned the list until she found the email she wanted. Mr. Andalusia Jones. She opened his email, and surprise, he told her he had made another generous contribution to the Special Projects fund. Creative writing time, she thought. She replied,

Dear Mr. Jones,

On behalf of the people of Maddington, and our library and myself personally, I thank you for yet another generous contribution. Maddington is a stronger and better city for your generosity, and I think your late wife would be extremely proud of you.

She sent the email off and saved it, along with the original email, to a file documenting contributions to the Special Projects fund.

Sitting on her desk was a cheap smartphone she’d bought for cash at a convenience store. She smiled at it and said, “Your turn, Mr. Jones.”