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

Joe slouched slightly and grinned, the pose of a good ole boy chatting about nothing bigger than a football game. “Credible note that we warned you was a joke. Looked like it was written by the dumb-ass the supposedly-abducted woman had been seeing on the side. Second-grade grammar, couple of his favorite catch phrases, more bragging about having taken the man’s wife than threatening. And no mention of money.”

“Sometimes,” said Kendall, “small-town law enforcement doesn’t recognize the gravity of a situation.”

The wattage on Joe’s smile turned up. “And sometimes the FBI likes to make a mountain out of a molehill. So what brings you down from the big-city office, Agent Kendall?”

“Former Agent. I retired and went private. And, of course, even you know I can’t discuss what my client is paying me to look into.”

“So it might just be another wild goose chase?”

They paused, an emotionless look facing a friendly look, and neither of them meaning what their poses promised.

“Or not,” said Kendall.

Joe laughed a perfunctory laugh. “Enjoy our library, Former Agent Kendall. We always welcome a new patron.” He turned to Serenity. “I’m gone. Unless you need me for some other little distraction.” He spun and marched out the door and Serenity watched him go.

Behind her she heard Doom say to Kendall. “You’re no patron. You’re the miserable worm who wants to crawl through our books to find something to embarrass us and let Bentley close the library.”

Kendal studied her. “Just looking at the books, like any citizen has a right to do. What makes you so sure I’ll find something bad?”

She jabbed at him with her finger. “I’m not. But I’m sure you’re going to try. That’s what Philistines like you and Bentley do. We are building a city of books here. You and Bentley are not going to stop us.” She pushed her finger into his chest. “And if you try, we will stop you .” She jabbed with each word. “By. Any. Means. Necessary.”

“Ms. Doom,” said Serenity. “Have you got Mr. Kendall’s report?”

“It’s on the printer.”

“Why don’t you go get it, and I’ll show Mr. Kendall some place where he can work?”

Doom snorted and stomped away.

Serenity said, “She doesn’t mean anything. She’s just protective of her library.”

“Protective of something. Are all of you that protective here?”

“Doom is an excitable girl. But, yes, we’re all pretty protective. We love books, and we love our library.”

“Actually, Ms. Hammer, I love libraries, too. I’m just doing a job.”

“Yeah. It’s who you’re working for that makes Doom treat your visit like a poisonous snake rattling.”

Doom returned with a stack of paper. Serenity took them and put Kendall in a carrel next to Doom’s desk in the public area. An old man, a little heavy, with gray hair in a ponytail under a red Alabama Championship cap to match his red Alabama windbreaker was sitting at the next carrel and didn’t look up.

“I’ll be in my office if you have any questions. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I won’t.”

Serenity found Doom was waiting in her office. “I can’t believe you caved to him like that.”

“I didn’t cave.”

“I would have demanded a subpoena or something.”

“Yeah, and he’d have made one call to Bentley and they’d be back, twice as suspicious.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be suspicious of in that report.”

Serenity raised an eyebrow.

“I gave him the library’s accounts. The library’s accounts, without the Special Projects fund. Which, after all, is a private fund of donations from private citizens who support the library. Really, it belongs to them, not us.”

SERENITY’S PULSE POUNDED like the tell-tale heart in Poe’s story of the same name. She couldn’t sit, she couldn’t stand. She couldn’t… be. Finally, she thought of trying something long forgotten.

Folding herself in her chair, she heard her mother’s voice.

“Everyone,” the calm, strong voice floated over the years, “we begin our meditation by making a deliberate and definite change in posture. As best you can, establish now a posture that embodies a sense of dignity and wakefulness.”

As soon as Serenity put her feet flat on the floor, hands resting in her lap, back slightly away from the back of the chair, head up, she was taken back to the last time she had given herself to one of her mother’s morning meditations. A field, somewhere in the Florida sun, with lettuce fields behind her mother. A circle of people: several tie-dye shirts, and a couple of men in hip business suits. The defensive line from a local college, sent to her by their coach.

“Eyes closed, if you’re comfortable with that.”

It was automatic for Serenity. When her mother said eyes closed—even in her imagination—her eyes popped open. She remembered seeing her mom at the center of people who had travelled miles to be guided by her. Except for her daughter, who was unguidable, and like any good American daughter, wanted to be anything but her mother.

“Focus on your breathing. Be present and pay attention to the rise and fall of your diaphragm. Feel the stretching as your chest expands, the relaxation on the exhale.”

Serenity listened to her mind and focused on her breath. Then she remembered the fight she had with her mom later that day. She had blamed her mother for her father leaving them—and everything else that was wrong.

The next day Serenity had run away, never to return. She spent the next couple of weeks hiding out in the Ocala library. A librarian named Heather found her reading and crying in the stacks the first day. Heather fed her, got her to school until she graduated, and—breaking every rule in the book—let Serenity sleep in the storeroom at night. When she left, Serenity began her twenty-year quest to just be normal and do whatever it took to fit in. Joe was the one who had convinced her to make up with her mother after their son Joseph was born, but she still had felt ashamed of her mother, ashamed of the years growing up in VW buses and tents while other kids grew up in McDonalds and Walmarts.

But now she heard her mother’s voice again at the end of their daily meditation, and she sounded strong and admirable. It was the first time she had ever visualized her mother that way. Now in her forties, Serenity was finally ready to forgive her mother for being… magnificent. And she knew why her mother had fought so hard.

In her mind’s eye, Serenity saw her mother rising, effortless and strong to give her followers their sendoff. “Now slowly expand your attention to the world. Open your eyes, and commit to being daring, go do something wondrous for your world.”

Serenity felt strong and calm and clean. After years of pretending, she finally was an honest woman.

A knock on the door interrupted her trip to the past.

She opened the door. “Mr. Kendall.”

“Ms. Hammer,” he said.

“Mr. Kendall.”

“I need the report.”

“You have the report in your hand. Tell Councilman Bentley we have been more than cooperative. Can I bring you a cup of coffee?”

“As long as the coffee comes with the rest of this report.” She looked at him and he twisted slightly so his eyes appeared out of the mirrors and focused on her. She tried to see if he was joking or not. Couldn’t tell.

“There’s one account that seems to be missing.” He looked at the report in his hand and read off the number of the Special Projects account. “Permanent accounts with numbers preceding and following this account are here.”