The Librarian

The Librarian

by Sandy Stiefer

I never knew her name. But I remember her gray hair and how it was always up in a French twist. And her pale blue eyes. When I came through the heavy brown door of the Carnegie library, she’d look up and smile a little smile.

She was always there in the downstairs children’s room, the face of the library to the shy ten-year-old girl that I was then. When I stepped up to her desk to check out, she approved my book choices with, “You will like this one.” She might add her soft smile as she handed me back my book. I would immediately open it to look at the card in the pocket, with her initials penciled in and the due date stamped in blue ink.  

Some kids talked to her but I didn’t. It didn’t occur to me back then that she was aware of my shyness. But now I’m sure she knew the agony she would cause me if she asked me a question. The code of silence was this little introvert’s happiness.    

I was free to wander, seeking out adventure and fun in my next book. But one day I was having a hard time making a choice. I started at the top shelf and worked my way down the alphabet and shelves, pulling one out and then another.

 I picked books as if I were looking for the perfect peach. I looked at the cover. I’d turn it over, looking at the spine, the front and back. Finally, I’d smell it.

I’d raise it to my nose in expectation. The smell of the book was the smell of the library. All of the books had that library smell. It was comforting, reassuring.

Since I couldn’t find a book I decided to sneak up the creaky wooden stairs to the forbidden land of books for grownups. I liked walking up and down in the stacks.

I wandered along looking at titles and suddenly the librarian from downstairs, my librarian, said in a stern voice, “These books aren’t for you.” I looked up at her frown and spun around as if stung by a bee. And ran for the stairs.

in the children’s room I resumed my search. I went to the opposite wall so my back faced her desk. Suddenly the familiar voice from behind me said, “Do you like horse stories?” I turned, afraid, even though her voice was soft and friendly now.

I didn’t turn around. In a squeaky voice I said, “Yes.” I really didn’t know if I liked horse stories. I’d not read any. But I was fresh from the sting of her disapproval. So I said yes again.

She reached out to the shelf and pulled a plain black book with The Black Stallion printed in gold on the spine. “Let’s go check it out,” she said. I hadn’t smelled the book, I hadn’t looked inside. But I followed her to her desk. When she handed me the book she said, “You’ll like this one.”

When I got outside, I immediately sat on the shaded wooden bench just outside the door. I smelled the book, ran my finger over the golden title on the spine. I opened it to the first chapter.

I was deep into the second chapter when the door opened and the librarian came out, her blue sweater over her arm and her purse in hand. She saw me and smiled. “Do you like it?”

I nodded. She nodded too. I watched her as she walked away down the sidewalk.  

When she turned the corner at the end of the block, I got up. As I walked, I raised the black book with gold print to look at it again. Then I held it tightly and hurried toward home.

That librarian helped me develop a love of reading. And horses. And a career in writing as well.  Too bad I never knew her name. Later, I would have liked to thank her. When I was no longer shy.

 #libraries #librarians #books #reading