For the Love of the Library

We as humans crave connection, and within that bond, mutual understanding. The ability to move freely beside another is one of life’s greatest privileges—at least according to everyone in Vanessa’s life, with their constant declarative little statements about love. From the moment she turned 18, the badgering about a boyfriend or even the whisper of “friend” was the chosen family gossip. From her sister to the multiple aunties visiting, her romance became a mystery to be squared away.

She had chosen instead to follow the words of her late masaní (grandmother) Ruby: “no boys.” She didn’t speak much English, but her wishes were clearly summed up with those two words. Her mother with her gaggle of sisters came from the generation that supposedly breathed love, the 80s, so they meant well. Vanessa wondered if that was the reason why some of her aunties were heavily invested in keeping a never-ending inventory of men. How could her own mother push romance when she’s been with the same guy since high school?

Vanessa swiftly tapped down on the backspace to purge herself from the reminder of her position in life. She had been avoiding the scanner, as her mundane task of the day was scanning old college journals. Remembering all the emails in need of answering, she tried to sound professional but upbeat, because nothing says librarian’s assistant like a well-worded email. Moving away from home meant the unwanted exploring into her love life stopped, but she still missed her family.

The need to be with someone did not often bother her, but yesterday, while doing the weekly shopping, she stumbled upon a world of red tinsel garland coiled around the cashier’s area and about the store. The explosion of pink and red hearts unsettled her because maybe a relationship would be nice. The countless couples wafting by her library’s station day after day would create longing in anyone. The college experience of course meant being with and for someone else, but her life couldn’t configure the math. The number of hours she would need to reasonably be available to another simply did not exist.

Dating meant carefully dancing around the questions of “what’s your clan?” or “who’s your mom?” How does one nonchalantly probe for answers over a cup of coffee? Is that a first or second date line of questioning? Being majorly out of her depth she knew that adult dating was not like that in middle school when the boy would come straight to your face to ask if you could be their girl. She was snapped out of her inner stream of dialogue with a thud on her counter.

“Hey, so I have a question. I don’t have my library card, but I have my college ID. Could I use that to check out?”

“Um, yeah, the two should be linked together. Could I see your ID?”

“So, I haven’t seen you around. Do you just work here?” “What was that?”

“Just that I haven’t seen you around. Do you just work for the college?”

Running the book through the system, Vanessa, not bothering to answer, slid the book across the counter. “Here you go, have a great day.”

“Ahh, yeah I’ll see you around.”

Over the course of the next weeks, with the same amount of glee on his face, he came to Vanessa’s station to check out. She found herself watching him more and at times he would catch her. Instantly, she looked away in shame.

“You know I could just give you a new library card for $3.”

“Well then I wouldn’t be able to see your face.”

“Yeah, you would because I kinda work here.”

“So, a bunch of us are going out to the lake tonight. I was wondering if you wanted to take a break from shelving and come out?”

“Oh, I rarely shelf because there’s so much administrative stuff to do, but that’s not the question you asked.” Trying to slow her breathing so as to not give any notion that at that very moment her lungs were collapsing in on themselves, she said rather too quickly, “NO!”

“I’m sorry . . . I mean maybe another time, excuse me.” Opening the wooden door that separated her from the public, Vanessa exited right. Examining her face in the bathroom mirror for any proof of her embarrassment, she did not want to appear flustered when returning to her station. Whispering to her reflection, “For weeks he came to your desk, of course he likes you,” the conflict in her emotions could not fathom admiring someone she exchanged only a few words with.

The next day, he returned to check out, always with an assortment of romance novels at the ready. “So, romance?” She genuinely questioned his choices but remembered her job and therefore any reading was better than none.

“You could say I only pick ones based on the title, well, and they remind me of my mom,” he said carefully, placing them into his backpack. “You should check out some of these books, when you get a chance.” With genuine curiosity, Vanessa stared at the open browser with his account. It couldn’t be her stomach knotted at the realization that all the books he checked out spelled out messages. Maybe she was overreacting or reading too much into it, but how could it be clearer with titles like Will They or Won’t They and Yes No Maybe So.

With no hope of sleep, she recalled all the titles as her way of counting sheep. Disheveled but mostly on a mission all morning, her restlessness kept her on guard. As soon as he entered the library, she asked, “Can we talk?” Behind the cover of books, she asked, “Are the books . . . some kind of hidden message? Like, did you do all of that on purpose?”

With the smile that always filled her stomach with warmth, he simply said, “Took you long enough.”