the library, part two

this is the conclusion to the library, part one. read that one first if you’d like.

It’s 2022, one year post-graduation. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve moved out, and I live right next door to a library. It’s not my library though. It’s a college library, and I don’t go to college anymore, so I can’t go to the library. Plus I’m pretty sure I owe a million dollars in late fees. And I lost my library card and beause of my million dollars in late fees they’ll never let me get another library card, not unless I pay the million dollars in late fees first. I come up with every excuse I can to not go to the library. I am afraid, broke, and ashamed. I weep and moan to my Twitter followers about my library woes.

Someone I follow on Twitter works at the library. She tells me that actually, they don’t do late fees anymore, and that any previous late fees have been absolved. I get into my car and drive to my library. My first library. I apply for a library card. I pick the one with the same design I had on it as a kid. I check out three graphic novels. I haven’t read a book for fun in a long time. I return to my car and cry.

I move, and move again. I live close to my old neighborhood now, just a few minutes away from my second library. I get a new job. It is stable, but sad. I am bored. I listen to audiobooks while I get my work done. I really like audiobooks. I like to multitask. I start keeping track of my books using apps. I’m reading a lot, and I have opinions. I start rating and reviewing my books. I start reading challenges. I still mostly read audiobooks. It feels like cheating. Everyone tells me it’s not.

When I feel really bad at work, I take my hour lunch break and visit the nearest library. I sit in the graphic novel section and look at all the books. I walk through the fiction shelves and stare at all the books I will never have enough time to read. I watch the patrons do puzzles, surf the web, read to their kids. I visit the children’s section. I stare at all the books I once read and cry.

I remember the Dewey Decimal System, faintly. I start looking at art books again. I teach myself how to crochet (again). I consider picking up knitting. I don’t. I check out a lot of crochet books, and I use the scanner at work to copy pages because I know I will be working on these granny squares for much longer than two weeks.

The library is so much better than I remember it. It feels like home. There are events, book clubs, reading challenges. There is a seed library, a podcast, a never-ending carousel of recommendations. One day, I get really into my family genealogy. The library offers free access to their genealogical database. The library has a catalog of old menus from local restaurants. I lose my mind at how cheap a ribeye dinner used to be in the 50s.

My job is less than ideal. I start applying for other positions. And then I remember the library. I submit application after application. I apply for jobs I am overqualified for, jobs I am underqualified for, volunteer positions. The status of my applications frequently read “referred to hiring department”, but nothing ever comes.

I quit my job. I return to school. I go back to waiting tables. I try things thinking I will like them. I like them, a little. But not enough. I apply to the library again. Weeks go by with nothing. Then, a glimmer of hope: a request to take the library exam.

I take the exam. I expect it to be me and maybe four other people, tops. It is a conference room full of applicants. I think, “this must be a general exam for anyone who applies for a city position.” It is not. My heart sinks at the prospect of employment among this huge pool of applicants. But then I remind myself they are building a new library, and that new library needs staff. Plus, I’m smart. I take the exam.

I miss five of fifty questions. I score 10th out of the 193 people who took the exam. This does not guarantee my employment. I feel better, but still not great. Then, a few weeks later, I am offered an interview.

Then, I am offered two more interviews at other places. I go to the first one. I accidentally reveal my hand too much and talk about the library job. They do not offer me the position. Then, I interview at the library. I interview Tuesday morning. They have packed the week full of interviews. I tried to change my interview time and every slot had already been filled until the end of the week. They are only filling seven positions. I do not let myself believe I won’t get the job.

A week later, I interview at my last spot. It’s not what I expect, but it’s secure. I leave my phone ringer on, just in case the library calls. They don’t. Another day goes by, then another. No call. No email. No updated application status. My hope slowly fades. I am offered the job at the last position. I think I will probably take it. I text my parents.

“Is it what you really want?” No, but it’s a job. “What about the library?” I haven’t heard back from them. “The city is extremely slow about hiring,” says my father, a city employee. “Reach out to the library and see.”

So I do. I compose an email. I double, triple, quadruple check it. I sleep on it. I double check it again. Then, I close my eyes and hit send. I roll over in bed and try to turn my brain off for a bit.

Forty minutes later, as I am typing something to a friend about how I have a gut feeling that I will someday die of cancer, I get a phone call. My hands go cold with sweat. I answer it.

The library offers me a job. The library offers me a job at my library. I am crying silently on the phone as the man explains the hiring process. I am beyond excited. We hang up, and I burst into full-on sobs. Suddenly, I am terrified.

I call my partner eleven times to try and wake him up. He’s sick and it is still early for him, but eventually he picks up. I email the other job, declining their offer. I text my therapist. I work on a Wise Mind. Everything boils down to shame. It always does.

The library has meant everything to me. The library taught me to love learning, to love my community. The library is the whole reason I love 90% of the things that I love. It’s the reason I love drawing, cooking, art, and crafts, not to mention, duh, reading. The library is the backbone of the community that I love so deeply, the community that I’ve thought about leaving multiple times but for some reason just can’t. The library is the most use I will get out of my degree short of working in a museum. In a broader sense, the library is a needed balm against anti-intellectualism, the frontline force against fascism. In a world where more and more people are being excluded, shamed, exiled, and attacked for being who they are or for simply existing in a culture that looks down on them, the library is a safe haven. The library is for everyone. All of that means something to me. All of that is why I said yes.

And despite all that, I am sick with fear and shame at my acceptance into a community I have revered for years at a respectable distance, safe from harm. I am scared that I won’t love it. I am scared that it will be too hard. I am scared that it will all be taken away. I am scared while writing this that even talking about this so shortly after my acceptance will jinx me and this job and it will all crumble around me miserably and dramatically and that everyone will laugh at me when I make my miserable and dramatic follow-up post explaining the situation. Jesus Christ.

But the thing is, the library had accepted me even before they offered me the job. They accepted me as a young reader, excited to learn about the world. They accepted me as a weird, awkward preteen learning about their body for the first time, and as a closeted queer teen who didn’t quite have the words to describe themself yet, but liked to read books about queer people under the guise of being an “ally”. They even accepted me despite my (probably) thousands of dollars in late fees, and despite the fact that I like audiobooks and graphic novels, unlike real readers who read real books without pictures.

My therapist tells me it’s very common for people who finally get what they want to immediately be afraid that they’ll lose it. I’m worried that I’ve made the wrong choice. I remind myself that there is no right or wrong. But if there was, why would pursuing something like this be wrong? I love the library. I take a deep breath. I take a few deep breaths.

I stop crying.

I start writing.