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.

The Book Drop Job

The plan to change out the book drop could not have been more simple. Do it fast and early so no patrons could stop for a chat about when the library was going to re-open to full capacity.

     The reference librarian would come in early. Real early. The way he explained it to the page, "If I get here before the sun rises, way before, they can't stop me. I mean no light in the sky, the darkest before, the hammer that makes the crack of dawn. I get here before even the nuts looking for garage sales get on the road. Then I just take it."

     "What about the ones on the wifi?" the page asked.

     "Oh, those bastards don't deal with the book drop. Haven't you been paying attention? They just sit in their cars or under the walkway and download and play their games and don't care fuck all about the world around them."

     "So are you just gonna take it?"

     "No, son. I mean, yes, in a way. I'll do it right and proper. I'll park around back where the meeting room is and go in through there. They don't see my car, they don't see me."

     The page tilted his head. "I thought they wouldn't be here."

     "Always plan for assholes to be where you don't want them to be."

     "Then won't they be around back?"

     The reference librarian grinned. "Chances, son. All we have are the chances we take. So I go in the meeting room, make my way through the building in the dark. Need you to clear my way. No strange carts in the way."

     The page hung his head.

     The reference librarian put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "No worries about that. Not now. Jamie'll fix her up. Just get the rest out of my way. Can you do that?"

     The page nodded. 

     "Right. Then I get the second bin and roll it to the side door. Get that done quick as I can. Then I get out there. Prop the door open and run out into the dark with that extra bin. Get in, and get out. I figure maybe two minutes."

     The page said, "Yeah. That might work. The lock on the book drop might slow you up, but not much. What are you going to do if a patron does come up wanting something?"

     "Well, I guess I might help them. Right to hell," and the reference librarian laughed.

     The page laughed, too, but was not sure why.