A Memory Hidden in a Notebook

Once more to the library. . .

The library of my elementary school has changed since I was a child, and I don't know that that's simply because the 90's went out of style. Everything was completely revamped--the picnic table with the large blue and white umbrella (the one that never stood up straight) has been replaced with chic beanbags and colored plastic stools. The walls have gone from white to sky blue, and an enormous clock on the wall is the first thing you see when you walk in.

And, unlike when I was a regular of that library, if you asked me where to find the myths and legends I wouldn't be able to walk there with my eyes closed. I'd have to use the grown-up cataloging system to lead you to them.

There are a lot of kids milling around, and I, a senior in high school, tower over even the tallest of sixth graders. They ask how old I am and when they hear the number their eyes widen and their lips silently repeat the number. I smile because eighteen really isn't that old, but I also remember the time when it was.

I remember those days when Wednesday was even better than Friday because Wednesday was "library day." And library day meant we could clatter down the short, meandering hallways to the center of the school where all the world was contained. And after we had our books a few of us would sit under that ever-leaning picnic umbrella, thumb through the brightly-colored pages of our new friends, and whisper secrets contained in the Genus Book of World Records. Rustling pages creating more magic than a fairy ever could.