Thahabu

I started working at my local library last week. I worked there for two years during high school, and I thought it was only right that I go back for summer work.

I’ve been visiting this library since my dad could push me in a stroller and cuddle me by the bookshelves while he read me Dr. Seuss books. As I grew older and developed depression, the library became a safe space, where I learned to log out of stress by delving into books about girls who didn’t fit in—girls like me. The librarians knew me by name and watched me grow up. They were like my third, fourth, and fifth grandmas; always interested in what I was reading and how I was doing in high school.

There was also a library page who was a few years older than me, Steffie, whose style I admired. She wore goth-inspired outfits with tutus and crowns to work. We became friends, and one day during my sophomore year of high school she asked, “Why don’t you just work here? We need more pages!” That’s when I fell even more in love with the sanctuary I call a library.

A year later, Steffie’s friend Christine began working here, and we became the “three musketeers” as the librarians called us. We were all short and used footstools to reach the top shelves. We also, unfortunately, bonded over the sexual harassment we’d sometimes face from male patrons, who would hound us to hang with them after our shift or beg for our number. Once, one of them even grabbed Christine, and we had to call them police. We had each others backs, though, and that’s what mattered.

I realize I’d forgotten how much I loved the smell of thousands of old and new books sitting on wooden shelves. The quiet makes it so much easier to think, while I shift bookshelves and help patrons. I even get to work on the garden we have in the back. I don’t know what kind of plants there are back there but they’re all different shades of green. One is a very deep green, while others are very bright with hints of yellow—that one reminds me of a rave party. I pull the weeds and water the plants when asked. It’s just as peaceful as walking between the bookshelves.

Speaking of shelves, I also tend to find my old favorite books when working. I thumb through the pages and remember the feeling its words gave me three, or five years ago, and if it isn’t busy, I might read 20 pages of a new book that seems interesting to me. I most recently borrowed Haruki Murakami’s 1Q84.

I appreciate working at the library even more now that I’m older. It’s like returning to a familiar, settled happiness. ♦