Red Sky in Morning

The circulation librarian did not like the look of the art teacher named Karryn. Nothing in particular stood out as art teacher's went. Cute black dress with some necklaces and bracelets that drew the eye and made little tinny sounds. Cute black hair cut in a bob that landed just below her ears where simple silver loops hung. Cute pea coat and cute strappy shoes and a cute tote bag that said "Where my art bitches at?"

     When Karryn the art teacher smiled, though, it felt too inviting.

     Karryn flashed that smile and said, "Can I see the space today or should I come back?"

     The circulation librarian said, "I'm sorry, but we're a little short handed. I'm the only one working curbside right now."

     "Oh, I hate to impose on you essential workers," Karryn said. She ran a hand along the table, her long unpolished nails skipping over it's uneven surface. "Are y'all always this busy?"

     There had been six appointments all morning. As they set up the table, the sky had been red under the dark clouds. The reference librarian had said, "Red sky in morning, a sailor takes warning." Then he had gone off to take in the delivery and installation of the new book drop and left her alone. Noises from that side of the building had been happening all morning as the workers tried to beat the rain.

     "We have our spurts. Always when we turn our backs, that's when people come," the circulation librarian said.

     Karryn said, "Like a cat. Ignore it, and it will lay on you all day long."

     "I suppose so. I should have another person here in a few hours," the circulation librarian said, thinking of when the page was coming in to work or when the children's librarian was done with her virtual story time.

     "I knew the old circulation librarian, you know," Karryn said.

     The circulation librarian said, "Oh?"

     "Yes. We went way back. I hated to hear about what happened."

     The circulation librarian had asked and heard the woman had died of natural causes. In her sleep. Just after retiring. She smiled, "I've heard rumors, but never met her."

     "Brenda was," Karryn smiled that inviting smile, "deliciously attentive. She knew the best books to drive me wild."

     "I hope I can help you get what you need," the circulation librarian said. She found herself drawn in by the woman.

     "You might just lure me away from the second branch," Karryn said.

     The circulation librarian leaned closer. Seeing Karryn's eyes for the first time, a subtle shade of gray with hints of violet. Lovely over that smile that said interesting things would happen if you just got a little closer.

     "The book drop is ready," the reference librarian said from the doorway.

     The spell was broken. The circulation librarian stepped back. 

     "Sorry to interrupt," the reference librarian said.

     "Chris, this is Karryn from the art class. She's here to see the meeting room," the circulation librarian said.

     Karryn said, "I thought I would come down and introduce myself. See the space I'll be working with."

     "Sure. Julie, do you want to get a break from curbside?" the reference librarian asked the circulation librarian.

     "No," the circulation librarian said. She did not want to be alone with this woman in the dark meeting room.

     "Okay. If you want to come around the table, I'll show you the meeting room," the reference librarian said to the art teacher.

     "Thank you very much. I can't wait to see what you have," Karryn said following the reference librarian into the building. 

     The circulation librarian wondered if it was a good idea to leave the reference librarian alone in the dark with the art teacher.

To Mend Fences

The reference librarian made coffee. He sat alone in the conference room and smelled the coffee. He wondered if it was strong enough. He wondered if he should have poisoned it.

     The circulation librarian came into the conference room. She sat beside him in one of the large comfy chairs. The board of directors, when they were still meeting here, had requested the best. She said, "So what's he like?"

     "Who?" the reference librarian said.

     "The second branch librarian."

     The reference librarian looked around. Seeing no one, he said, "Creepy bastard. I mean, we all got our things, but he's been out there too long. Gotten into some things in the county that should not-"

     "Hello," said the children's librarian as she breezed into the room and sat across from them. "We talking about Mr. Creepy from the land out yonder?"

     "Lower your voice," the reference librarian said.

     The children's librarian stuck out her tongue. "He's strange, but he's still a librarian."

     "That alone should scare you," the reference librarian said.

     "Is the director coming?" the circulation librarian said.

     The technical services librarian said from the door, "He is in his office on a call. He said we should handle it." She limped around the table and took a seat next to the children's librarian.

     "Would you like some coffee, Miriam?"the reference librarian said.

     "Did you poison it?" said the tech serv librarian with a small smile.

     The circulation librarian said, "I can't tell if y'all are joking anymore."

     "Ask your predecessor," said the tech serv librarian.

     Before the circulation librarian could ask what that meant, a small tapping came from the door. They turned and found the second branch librarian standing in the doorway. Small, wrapped in dark cloth and the smell of sage, the second branch librarian smiled.

     "It has been too long since we have met," he said, his voice high and full of teeth.

     "Coffee, Jacob?" said the reference librarian. 

     The second branch librarian took the seat at the far end of the table. He folded in on himself becoming a lump of coal and eyes looking out at them. When he spoke, his teeth shinded. "No, thank you, Christopher."

     "Well, I am, dammit." The reference librarian rose and poured a cup.

     The second branch librarian spoke: "I have little time. I am aware some of my patrons from the county vandalized the city book drop. This is unacceptable, and I wish to make amends and offer my apologies. I propose an outreach project of sorts to mend fences."

     "What kind of project?" the circulation librarian asked.

     "An art class from the local co-op needs a space. Free instruction to the public. After hours, so it can be contained. They will pay more than enough to use the space to fix the book drop."

     "We can't let people in to use the library," the children's librarian said.

     "We can if we invite them to use the space. If we use responsible practices, six feet, masks, etc. If you want the money for your book drop, this is the only way."

     "We could take money from the second branch budget," the reference librarian said.

     The second branch librarian flashed his teeth. "I have already spoken to the director and the art class. They find this acceptable. Once a month, the weekend after the full moon."

     "That's this weekend," said the children's librarian.

     The circulation librarian leaned forward. "Did the Nguyen family go to this art class?"

     "The sweet Nguyen family has enjoyed many of the second branch's programs," the second branch librarian said.

     "What do you think, Mirim?" the reference librarian said.

     The tech services librarian said, "None of my business. I don't do programming."

     The reference librarian turned to the children's librarian. "Jamie?"

     "We need a book drop. I say we do it," the children's librarian said.

     The second branch librarian rose. "The art class and their teacher will be in contact."

     "We didn't decide," the reference librarian said.

     The second branch librarian rose and walked to the door. "It was decided before I even came. As I said, I talked to the director. Good day to you all. We should meet again soon." He left with a small tapping.

A Green Light Means Drop

The reference librarian told the children's librarian, "Okay, here's what we do: You go first, get the door open wide. I'll push this bin out fast as I can behind you, so get out the way. I'm gonna hit the curb hard and might bounce a bit. Don't let that worry you."

     "You don't want to use the ramp?" The children's librarian said.

     The reference librarian shook his head. "If I make the turn, go down a few feet, then have to turn again? Seconds lost. People could be out there waiting to get in. Asking when we open, when they can donate old shit nobody cares about. No masks. The bastards."

     "Should I come behind you with a cart? Catch anything that falls?"

     "And have two of us out there at the same time? Are you mad?"

     "I didn't used to think so."

     "Jamie, we must do this fast. Changing the book drop bin is nothing to laugh at."

     "I'm not laughing. Every day seems the same. Same patrons, same curbside, same you and same me. Nothing ever changes. Even online programs. I don't know whether the wheels on the bus are going round and round or coming or going," the children's librarian said. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

    The reference librarian wanted to comfort her, but in the times of plague there is no touch. Words mean little. Action, though. He knew action. "Hey," he said. "Let's get these bins swapped out. How about it?" 

     The children's librarian's eyes crinkled and her head nodded. A smile somewhere under that Miss Frizzle mask came through. Focus and duty, the reference librarian thought, can bring us through.

     They got into places. The children's librarian stood by the door, her hand on the bar ready to push. The reference librarian stood with hands on a yellow bin. He gave it an experimental shove and enjoyed the way the wheels glided. Well oiled wheels.

     "Go," he said.

     The children's librarian shoved open the door with a heavy metal clang and ran around it. Halfway, though, with a hand on the door, she stopped. A green light shone around her. In the door frame against the overcast sky, she became a shadow in the sick flickering glow of whatever she was gazing at outside in the parking lot.

     The reference librarian stopped himself from pushing the bin into her. "What's wrong?" he said.

     "Oh, Chris," she said.

     He got the bin out of the way and stood beside her in the doorway. The book drop was ablaze in dark green fire. Black in the center where the bright white should be and flickering forest colored light to a smokeless sky. 

     Beyond the book drop, out in the parking lot, came the mirthless laughter of children. "The Nguyen family," the children's librarian said. 

     "Who?" the reference librarian said.

     "They went to the second branch and came back."

     "I'll make a call," the reference librarian said.