The Sound of Clear Plastic

From her perch behind the counter, Maggie sighed and counted the tables still occupied as the clock ticked toward closing. Two had just ordered, three were midway through their meal, and one was collecting his things to leave. The man placed cash on top of the receipt, a rare thing, and was wiping crumbs from his coat as Maggie went to clear the table. She took the coffee cup and plate and the man thanked her in an accent she didn’t recognize. He was oddly dressed, bright colors and intricate stitching. He had a large backpack and duffel bag next to him. She placed the dirty dishes in the bin next to the sink and walked back to wipe the table down. The man was gone.

As she worked a dried glob of ketchup with her rag, Maggie noticed a thick book sitting on the metal chair where the man sat. She retrieved it and read the title: The Rise of the Neptunian Women. It was an old hardcover, from the 1960s or 70s she surmised from the art and design, with a thin plastic cover wrapped around the frayed dust jacket. She went to the door and scanned the street, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

Maggie held the book for quite a while after the last patrons had left. She opened the front cover to reveal the stamped library card tucked into its yellowed pocket on the inside. The dates on the top of the card, those that were visible, were from many years ago. The clear plastic wrap crinkled under her fingers and the coarse sound brought her back to her childhood. She once hated library books, so thoroughly protected against the wear and tear of a hundred children’s grubby mitts and mouths. They were reminders that her family was unable to afford to buy books, or much of anything else. Another thing that couldn’t be hers and hers alone. But it never tempered her love of reading, and now this book elicited a nostalgia that surprised her. She hadn’t seen a library book in over six years, as the last few libraries closed long ago. Their inventory was sold off cheaply or given to charities, and copies such as the one Maggie held were the last vestiges of a profound societal loss.

The next day, Maggie waited for the man to return for the book, but he never showed. Though it was the type of novel she knew she’d enjoy, she refrained from reading about the Women of Neptune, as she didn’t want to lose the copy after getting through only a few chapters. It was old, perhaps out of print. But when the man again didn’t show the day after, she took the book home.

It wasn’t the greatest of tales, but it was a fun diversion, pure schlock with outlandish characters. The plot was contrived and the ending lacked both the satisfaction of a proper resolution and the necessary cliffhanger for a sequel. In spite of its flaws, Maggie enjoyed it immensely and didn’t care if that pleasure was derived from the nostalgia of the clear plastic, or the fact that she hadn’t read a trashy sci-fi novel in a long time. She opened the front flap upon finishing it and looked at the stamped library card again. She took it out of its thin sleeve for the first time. Printed at the top was Elisfield Public Library in faded blue letters. Below were stamped dates that reached back eleven years. She flipped the card over and the stamps ended. In their place were hand-written checkout dates, scrawled in different colored ink. The most recent was just eleven days earlier, by Ernest.

Maggie’s mind soared with the possibility of an open library. She pictured elegant stone walls and roman pillars at the entrance, a large atrium where a stout librarian would welcome her, and she would wander off through the maze of books. She unlocked her phone and typed ‘Elisfield’ into the Maps app. Several locations across the United States appeared, the closest of which was one state over, three hours by train. She almost searched for the library, but caught herself. She didn’t want to see it, the building would be a surprise. She picked up the hardcover and slipped the card back into its sheath. If this library did exist, it was only proper that she return the book and save Ernest from the late fees that would soon be accrued. Her heart skipped a beat as she purchased the train ticket.

———

Two days later on a Friday, her one day off, she boarded the train to Elisfield at eight in the morning. She spent the ride with her tote bag on her lap, her hands resting on it, the book waiting inside for its return home. She was tired but couldn’t think of sleeping, the excitement too great. After many stops and a slight delay, she finally pulled into Elisfield station.

She strolled through the cute downtown, there were many shops and restaurants, all of which looked enticing, but she had her mission. She asked a passing man where she could find the library. He had a white beard and kind eyes that gave him a Santa quality. He smiled meekly and told her the way, two streets down and take a left, another block and you’re there. She followed his directions and turned the corner. From a distance she saw the large building, concrete not stone, but no matter, it was still beautiful. As she approached she could see several people passing through the entrance. Others sat leisurely on the grass of the lawn or on benches. She couldn’t help but smile widely, her face hot with anticipation.

As she drew closer, however, she noticed the large banner hanging above the doorway, hiding the carved letters PUBLIC LIBRARY. She slowed her pace as she read the words printed in broad type on the fabric sign. She looked at those on the lawn and entering the building and she stopped. She bit her lip and attempted to hold in the tears as she clutched the book in her tote bag. She turned quickly and headed back to the train station, ashamed at her stupidity, and the homeless shelter receded behind her.

The glass rattled against Maggie’s head as she leaned against the train window. Her stomach moaned and she realized how hungry she was. She had imagined a pleasant lunch in Elisfield after perusing the many bookshelves. She glanced at the next stop and it was a town she recognized, Portisville. She had gone to a music festival there with friends as a teenager. She exited the train and wandered aimlessly for some time, her head still in a fog, until she found herself in front of a small diner. She entered and was directed to one of the booths. She sat heavily on the torn mustard-colored seat and was given an enormous menu.

She peered out onto the street as she ate her turkey club and limp fries. She still felt the need to cry, though she couldn’t place why. Something had been lost that was already gone, but the reminder of it seemed too much to bear. She paid the waitress and thanked her with a healthy tip. She took the book from her bag and placed it on the table, the crinkling plastic soothing her slightly. The illustrated Neptunian Woman looked back at her, purple skin, fierce and scantily clad, gripping a ray-gun. She opened the front cover to the library card and pulled it from the sleeve. She flipped it to the back and laid it on top of the title page and scanned the many names before retrieving a pen from her bag. She went to the next blank line and wrote the date she retrieved the book from Ernest. And next to that, she wrote MAGGIE. She checked the train schedule on her phone, the next one would depart in twenty minutes. She rose and left the diner, her bag at her side, lighter than before.