Authors: Dennis Larsen
compartment of the Boeing 727. She’d
sold everything she could, given a bunch
to friends and neighbors, including the
ashtray that Tony had brought back from
Jamaica on one of his ‘business trips’ that
Blanche now knew to be ‘give me the
business’ trips. Everything else had gone
to charity or the local dumpster. She had
saved the ashtray to give Holly as a
special going away memento. It was round
at the base like most ordinary ashtrays but
had a rather large phallus, carved out of
local Jamaican wood, that rose from the
tray’s rim and defied gravity as it
balanced on the table in front of them.
When he had brought the odd gift home
she thought perhaps he had purchased it to
titillate her, but as she looked at it now,
the undeniable truth struck her as
somewhat funny.
Holly had been speechless when
she saw the item. “I don’t know what to...
Well, I really think it’s uh... Is it really
possible that they ever get that big?” she
finally said.
They shared a laugh and hug
knowing that they wouldn’t get a chance to
see each other until Christmas, if even
then. The years following the split with
Tony, Holly had been a great source of
comfort and solace. They went to the gym
together, often ate lunch at the plaza near
Holly’s craft store where she sold local
home made items and antiques. Blanche
really didn’t know how she would make it
without her lifelong confidant but was
assured that they would only be as far
apart as a phone call. Her family on the
other hand needed some space from her or
perhaps she needed the space from them.
It was growing increasingly apparent that
they didn’t approve of her lifestyle, and
were disappointed that she didn’t have a
husband, four children, a mortgage and a
Dodge Caravan. That was not Blanche,
never was, never would be. Something in
the air told her she was meant for
something different, something more,
something unusual. She didn’t begrudge
her friends and women who chose the path
of a family and the whole 'settling down
routine', but the books of her youth kept
her searching for something that, most
likely, was completely unattainable.
The farewells at the airport had
been awkward but sincere. Tears had
flowed freely as she kissed her nieces and
nephews goodbye, hugged her mom and
dad, and held Holly longer than she should
have. “Yes, maybe life does start at 33,”
she thought to herself, as she left the teary
crew and made her way through security
and onto the plane.
CHAPTER ONE
The stairs to the old library were
well worn by the soles of book lovers the
years over, and it gladdened Blanche's
heart to know that she was perhaps among
kindred spirits. The top of each step was
freshly painted with a yellow stripe in an
attempt to keep the senior citizens on their
toes and not their knees and elbows. More
than once the county had doled out legal
fees resulting from errant footfalls. The
librarian carefully maneuvered the stairs
and paused, her hand on the large handle
below the sign reading 'Quietly Enter and
Enjoy the World of Books', followed by
another sign that read 'Valdosta Public
Library - Donations Welcome'. The hinges
creaked ever so slightly as she pulled the
door open and got her first look at her new
home away from home.
Initially it didn't appear to Blanche
to be very busy but under closer
inspection she could see individuals
scurrying about behind the scenes, taking
books out of bins, sorting and getting them
ready to go back on the shelves. She was
surprised to see so many actively working
considering the financial crunch they were
under. The library itself was a warm and
inviting space filled with row after row of
shelving units interspersed with tables,
computer monitors and comfy armchairs
for those wanting to stay awhile. Rich
wood accents highlighted the walls and
angles giving the library a homey feel that
culminated with a large reception desk in
the centre of the first floor. Near the desk
and stretching to the second floor was the
most amazing cantilever staircase. Inlaid
hardwood steps, beautiful iron work and
an elegant hand carved wood grip, drew
Blanche's eyes to the open area above,
topped with a domed cathedral style
ceiling that she had noted from the moment
she'd gotten off the bus, complete with a
Georgia flag waving in the noon breeze.
At the desk stood a woman in her
late fifties, hair in a graying bun, dress to
the floor and wrists, with a nametag
hugging her chest. Blanche moved close
enough to make out the name, Ester
Anderson - Director. She fit every
stereotype and unsaid expectation Blanche
had ever run into over her years of service
in a library setting. Mrs. Anderson
appeared to be all business as she moved
from the desk counter to the computer and
back again. Logging information, moving
books from one pile to another and
answering the phone while still working
the papers and items in front of her,
occasionally looking up to cast a
sideways glance at the youth in the corner
making paper airplanes and sending them
into space. Blanche stood patiently
waiting for Ester to have a lull so she
could introduce herself.
“What can I do for you?” the head
librarian said, without even lifting her
eyes from the countertop.
“I’m sorry to interrupt but I’m the
new librarian, Blanche Delaney from
Arizona.”
It was as if the older woman had
just been injected with adrenalin, “Well,
let’s see, welcome, welcome, but we
didn’t expect to see you until, um let’s see,
tomorrow August 6th,” she replied, as she
moved papers about on the desk looking to
find something of importance.
Blanche, in an attempt to be
tactful, replied in a hushed tone, “I believe
today is the 6th?”
“Oh my heavens, is that right, are
you sure? Do you mean to tell me that I’ve
spent the entire morning stamping items
with the wrong date?” and with that she
grabbed the date stamp from the desk,
flipped it over and read, “August 5, oh no,
that just won’t do. Now I’ll have to spend
the remainder of the day correcting the
errors of the morning, but that’s neither
here nor there for you." She straightened
herself up, took in a full breath of air and
repeated these obviously rehearsed lines,
"We are so pleased to have you join us
here at the Valdosta Public Library and
we look forward to getting to know you
and helping you settle into our little
community.” She extended her hand and
took Blanche’s in a firm grip and shook it
a time or two before releasing it and going
back to the desktop in search of the
illusive document she needed. “Oh here it
is, I knew it was here somewhere. It says
here that you are single and will be
working full time with responsibility for
the library only. I guess that leaves the
museum to me but I’m sure I’ll need your
help there on occasion as well,” more
speaking to herself than Blanche. “Were
you planning on working today or do you
need some time to get your things taken
care of?”
Blanche was nodding yes to her
question even before she had finished, “I
had anticipated working today. I’ve been
in town a couple of days already and got
my things,” ‘which aren’t many,’ she
thought to herself, “stowed and I’m ready
to go.”
“Alrighty, that sounds good. Let’s
get you started with a tour of the library
and I can answer some questions as we go
along.” She turned and motioned to a
young man working in the room behind a
glass window. As he approached the front
desk she said, “Can you watch the desk
for a few minutes? I need to show our new
librarian, Ms. Delaney our facility.”
“Sure
Mrs.
Anderson,
no
problem,” he replied, with a smile on his
face, taking in the shapely librarian as she
turned and headed off down a row of
books with Ester.
The tour was brief but informative.
The library had been of service to the
community for many years and Mrs.
Anderson had been the director for more
years than she cared to divulge. The
working hours would be typical, starting
at 8:30 a.m. and closing one half hour
beyond the posted closing time. This
would allow time to straighten things up in
preparation for the next day. The library,
however, was open two nights a week
until 10:00 p.m. and Blanche would be
expected to work those shifts on a regular
basis, as she was the newest member of
the staff.
“Mrs. Anderson, you indicated in
our correspondence that funding was a
concern, yet I see so many young people
working in the back room today,” she
inquired.
“Oh them, they belong to a work
study group from the high school. They
come in a couple times a week to help sort
books and get them back on the shelf for
us. Without them we’d be in real trouble.
There are only four of us that are actually
paid to be here. That’d be you, me,
(pointing
at
herself),
Marcus
the
custodian, I’ll introduce you to him later
today, and Seymour. He’s a college
student that helps out in the evenings when
we need him. I guess that’s about it,” she
said, with a shrug of her lace-covered
shoulders. “I think today you should spend
some time getting to know the layout of the
library, what we have available and
familiarize yourself with our computer
system. I believe you said you had used
something similar in your last position.”
Blanche began to say yes, but was
cut off and sent on her way with a flick of
Ester’s hand and calling over her
shoulder, “Let me know if you have any
questions. I’ll be re-stamping all the
books that came in this morning.” The next
couple of hours just flew by as she
inspected the rows of books and
wandered the library from top to bottom.
She noted that a steady stream of patrons
had come and gone with some older
people settled into the cozy chairs either
reading the paper or sleeping, in some
cases. At 3:00 p.m. she excused herself
and informed Ester that she'd be back in
half an hour after she'd finished her lunch.
As she exited the building and
descended the yellow highlighted steps
she could hear children laughing and
playing, she followed the direction of the
noise. Turning the corner on Wilson Drive
she could see a group of small children
running and playing in and near a fountain.
Water sprayed from the white, marble
fountain that graced the center of the
vibrant little park, arching high into the air
coming back to earth in a torrent of
splashes at the base. Trusting parents sat
idly by talking in small clusters as the
children welcomed the cool water on their
heads and tanned bodies.
“Just the place for lunch,” she
thought. Sitting on the edge of a nearby
fountain, Blanche opened the brown paper
bag she had hidden away in her purse and
pulled out the peanut butter and jelly
sandwich
that
her
landlady,
Mrs.
Carmichael, had made for her that
morning, insisting that the homemade jam
would be the best she had ever tasted. The
spray from the fountain felt good as it
acted to nullify some of the humidity.
Blanche sat and enjoyed the beauty of the