Little Red Riding Librarian

            by Maggie Bond

 

            Jane wasn’t whistling any particular tune or thinking any particular thoughts as she made her way to work in the half-light of that chilly, winter morning. A light wind ruffled Jane’s hair and reddened her cheeks, and her whistling grew stronger, delighting in the sound of itself filling the open air. Her thin shoulders hunching against sudden gusts of wind, she made her way through the middle school’s garden towards a trail camouflaged by various foliage. This wasn’t exactly a short cut to the library, but Jane couldn’t resist the feeling of secrecy the path held.

            The trail wound down through tall hedges, over which she could see nothing but gray sky. Jane’s feet sounded heavy on the dirt path, her long, gangly body rocking awkwardly with each downward step. In a small, enclosed clearing usually littered with nothing more than broken lighters and adolescent angst, something caught Jane’s eye. She hesitated to pick up the decrepit looking thing and, rifling through her giant purse, fluffed out a tissue.

            The object had a fascinating quality to it and filled her with a certain childish thrill at discovering such a rare and suspiciously magical treasure. She studied the broach carefully, it appeared to be made out of a taxidermied raven’s claw.

            “Nevermore!” Jane croaked, waving it around a bit.

            She stuck the tissue into her back pocket and pinned her new find onto her sweater.

            Warm air poured out of the library as she swung the door open. Her gaze naturally flew up to the red stained glass window that floated high above the check out desk. She took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar smell of old paper and over-vacuumed carpets.

            Walking in she tripped over a round rack, inhaling with a small squeak, but a moment like this had little effect on her mood.

            “Morning, Jane,” Maurine said without looking up from her computer.

            Jane turned to make some sort of protest, and was pulled in by a pair of rounded, blue eyes. In less then a moment it was over, but Jane was left shaken by the electricity that had passed between them. Pulling back she saw that the eyes belonged to a man whom, after thinking about it, she had seen often at the North Branch. She’d never helped him find anything or even checked out his books, but he must have been in there almost every week.

            He had been facing away from the return desk, seemed to be on his way out, but was now rooted to the spot as Jane walked past him to the information desk. They watched each other without looking at one another.

            She unlocked her desk and watched him walk over to the public computers. He sat down and watched her fuss with her overgrown bangs, beginning a search for the first word that came to mind: broach.

            Jane felt the man’s presence all morning, and she went about her business with an uneasy awareness. The firm clack of old computer keys dug into her as she tried desperately to concentrate on her work. Yet somehow fantasies of herself in a red riding habit kept luring her away.

            “Excuse me?”

            Jane looked up at the woman who had interrupted her thoughts, but the woman was looking over Jane’s shoulder. Jane turned around, and looked back to her.

            The woman continued, eyeing the encyclopedias, “Yes, I need to find a book on…”

            Jane had never been sure quite what it was about her, but she was rarely looked at directly. She was careful not to wear colors that matched the walls of the library, or her small apartment, yet she could not help but fade into them.

            Shelving was a task that almost all the librarians avoided, but not Jane. She had a way of running her fingers over a row of books to get to the right place that she sometimes dreamt about. Lightly, deftly, her fingers softly bumped against the smooth spines.

            She squatted by a low shelf, balancing on her toes. “Thk thk thk thk,” went the hardcovers as she tried to hold several in her lap while keeping a row of novels in place. Warm breath suddenly fills Jane’s ear, and in whooshed an unfamiliar, “Hi.”

            Jane squawked in reply.

            Someone in the back shushed her.

            She looked up into cold, blue eyes.

            “Umm… Can I-” Jane piled her books quickly on the shelf, so she could get back on her feet. “…help-” The books thumped to the ground, taking more with them.

            “Chha-mmm…May I help you with something?” she said in a cold, dignified manner, ignoring the whine of an annoyed reader.

            He smiled at her.

            “My, what big teeth you have,” popped out of Jane’s mouth before she could stop herself. “I…um.”

            He took a breath, “I’m looking for a book.”

            “Yes. Of course. Why um, don’t we step over to the information desk?” She walked in front of the man self-consciously, not sure if it was more out of embarrassment or uneasiness.

            “So what can I do for you?”

            “Well… I’m looking for that book,” he said a bit slowly, looking at her eyes.

            “What book?” she asked, looking at her keyboard.

            “The one I mentioned I was looking for before.”

            “Which one is that?” she smiled.

            He paused, “…That’s an interesting broach you’ve got there.”

            Something about his tone unnerved Jane, and she said nothing. She looked instead into his sleepy, heavily lashed eyes.

             “There actually is a book I’d really like to find. I just can’t for the life of me remember what it’s called.”

            “Well, who’s it by?”

            “…uuuh, I can’t remember,” he said and smiled a lazily, his thick eyebrows rising. “What’s your name, anyway?” he inquired as though they’ve been having a lively conversation and he’d just forgotten to ask.

            She let herself briefly wonder if he would be casually asking where her grandmother lived too. “What’s yours?”

            “Charlie, pleased to meet you,” he said amiably and stuck out his hand.

            Charlie’s hand engulfed Jane’s, making her long yet indelicate fingers look like those of a child. Jane couldn’t tell if she should be wary of him, if she shouldn’t talk to strangers.

            Jane was the last to leave that night, and she hurried to lock the door in the cold wind, her heart beat faster at the sight of the empty streets. The darkness and quiet exhilarated her imagination, though the dangers that lurked in the shadows had so far turned out to be nothing but deer and raccoons. She peaked back in to make sure every light was off.

            “…boo.”

            “Aaaaaah!!” Jane let out a wild yelp.

            Charlie laughed a quiet, hoarse laugh.

            “What- what are you still doing here?” She looked into his eyes, but couldn’t see anything behind them.

            “Waiting for you.”

            Jane gulped, and did something she knew was even worse then talking to strangers.

            “It’s pretty dark out. Would you mind walking me home?”

            “ It would be my pleasure.”

            The next morning, the wind howled against Jane’s windows, the branches of a tree scraped against her side of the building, morning traffic blared outside, but there was no movement within.

            An eye flicked open. “Oy.” Jane said. She lifted her head and dumped it to the other side. No Charlie, her hand flopped back and forth, the bed was cold. Not exactly a fairy tale, she thought, but no murder mystery either.