Peanut Butter and Jelly

Peanut Butter and Jelly

The librarian’s voice screeched like an angry blue jay.

“And WHAT do you young men think you’re doing?”

Not quick enough to flip the page, the taller of the two adolescent blond-haired boys slid his hand over the picture of the naked breasts. Too late. The shorter, well-nourished boy immediately put his hands in his lap, to hide the protrusion arising from between his legs. The scowling woman looked at their hands, not their faces. She slowly raised her eyes to meet theirs. She was definitely not smiling.

Ha! Caught in the act. I exhaled a sigh of relief as the focus of her attention was no longer on me. At least for the moment.

A few minutes earlier, I had hesitated to enter because I saw that she was behind the counter. I tried not to look scared. I told myself to decisively pull the thick handle of the twelve-foot-high wooden door and step into the library with confidence. Like I belonged there. It was hard to do, though, knowing that my partially combed hair and torn pink shirt hinted that the opposite may have been true. I moved my hand to cover up the small rip in the bottom ruffle my favorite pink pullover. Even at just ten years of age, I understood that some people judged you by how you looked.

The stern-faced woman with short gray-hair at the front desk looked up and studied me. I felt a chill run down my spine, and I quickly slid into the nearest oak chair by the main door. I resisted the temptation to look at her. My peripheral senses bristled on high alert and I was ready to run if needed. I remembered that you shouldn't let a witch get close enough to grab you or she’ll take your soul. I read that fact in one of the many books about evil witches I had devoured. I also read that not all witches are bad.

 I turned my face away from her and wondered if she recognized me from the previous Saturday’s ugly encounter with my mom. The strict librarian with mean eyes had called security to insist that my mom leave “and take her with you”. I overheard her tell the security guard that she smelled alcohol and was sure it was coming from my mom. And that it was disgusting. I thought she just wanted to be mean to someone. To do her evil deed of the day, like witches do. I didn’t know about the alcohol; my mom always smelled like that.

Against my mom’s orders, I couldn’t stay away. I needed that place; I needed my books. So, on that April morning, I woke up early, dressed myself and, without waking mom, walked the whole way to the library. Besides, I told myself, it was 1970 and I was ten years old, certainly old enough to walk to the library alone on a weekend morning. I knew how to get there because after my dad left for Viet Nam, mom drove me to the library every Saturday morning. Most of the time she just sat in the car, reading letters from dad, while I roamed the library shelves and breathed in the glorious aromas of the books and oak tables. How I enjoyed the feeling and smell of opening a new book and flipping through its crisp, untouched pages. I cherished the sense of safety I felt when I sat proudly at one of the antique wooden tables.

Mom usually came inside to find me when it was time to leave and last week was no exception. When she looked around, though, she couldn’t find me. I was curled up, deep in study at the newly unveiled teen corner, hidden away in the back of the second floor, but mom didn’t know. She must have panicked when she couldn’t find me, because she went to the main book check-out desk, which she had never done before. That’s when it all happened. Mom was angry at the gray-haired librarian who was equally angry at my mom. Then we had to leave.

I prayed the same librarian was not working the day I returned, yet there she was. Dressed as usual in her freshly ironed white blouse, black skirt and black librarian shoes. Of course, the librarian-witch recognized me. She started to silently float toward me, but the mischievous giggles of adolescent boys arose from behind her and immediately shifted her attention. She wheeled around like a cat who had been nipped on the tail. Off she sprang in the direction of the lucky distraction. I felt safe for the moment.

The two boys, about twelve or thirteen, judging by their gangly growth-spurting arms and legs, hadn’t seen her approach. I almost felt sorry for them… but no. I already knew a little about the boys. Enough. They both had sisters who were in my class and who I always tried to avoid. They constantly made fun of new kids, or fat kids, or ones who they wanted to know didn’t matter to them. Like me. When I told my classmates that my dad left for Viet Nam, the sisters told the boys. After school a few days later, the boys saw me outside and asked if my dad was going to kill any babies. Mom said they were just being stupid boys, but I never forgot it.

I watched intently as the scene unfolded. With her ingrained frown, pointy nose and chin, the scary librarian looked amazingly like of one of the many bad witches about whom I loved to read. In my heart, I was convinced that she was one of them, an evil, cruel witch. She stealthily approached the table where the two sat. Vulnerable. She was so quick; I never saw her feet touch the ground. Could she have flown through the air? That would have confirmed that she was indeed a witch. Engrossed in The Medical Guide to Anatomy and Physiology and gawking at pictures of female genitalia, the boys were too focused in their private delight to sense her presence.

 “No talking, and that means no GIGGLES, either! DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND?” Her gaze darted from face to face with lightening-like intensity.

"Well?"

An awkward silence.

“Yes, ma’am” was uttered in unison.

In the pin-drop quiet of the library, I strained to listen. She hissed in a voice that was low and threatening.

 “Once more, and I’ll call your parents. I know who they are and I think they’ll be VERY interested in knowing what their sons are studying in the public library.” She leaned in closer to the boys. More hissing.

“Unless you’re going to medical school, I strongly suggest you pick a different subject today. GOT IT?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her face was inches from theirs. “Now…QUIIIETTT!”

 At that point, I wouldn’t have been surprised if one of the golden boys had peed his pants out of shock, especially considering the threat of calling their parents and embarrassing disclosure of the subject of their “study”. It was difficult to suppress the urge to giggle but I made sure no noises escaped my lips.

I realized that I needed to hide before she turned around, so I slid out of my chair and sneaked around a tall column of manuals to find a seat that was out of the line of sight from her witches perch at the main desk. The nearest shelves of books in this row were science and biology related. I loved this section! I especially enjoyed reading about sea animals, fish, photosynthesis and how plants could be turned into medicines for people and animals. Although the shelves did not contain books about witches or horses (my favorites!), reading about biology and science was almost as good. I reasoned that this section served two purposes, to help keep my straight A's on my quarterly report cards, and could help me learn to concoct my own good luck spells for my mom, dad and me.

Suddenly, I felt a presence, accompanied by a sense of dread. Oh no. It was her. She caught me in a moment of escape, reading about dolphins and their intelligence. I fantasized that someday I would be a marine biologist and would work to train them. Or heal the gentle dolphins that were sick or injured, like on the television show, Flipper. While my Grandma was still healthy, we used to watch Flipper every week together while my mom was out. I was thinking about that when the witch suddenly appeared behind me. I stiffened up and jerked around. She stood behind me silently like some sort of apparition, then placed her right hand on the back of my hardwood chair. I was trapped. My feet were rooted to the ground like a tree.

“Here, sweetie, do you like peanut butter and jelly?” The witch held out her hand, holding a delicious looking peanut butter and jelly sandwich, on white bread. My empty stomach growled, noticeably.

This offer of food confused me. It tempted me. I didn’t answer but sat paralyzed in my chair. Our eyes met only for a split second, as I tried my best not to look directly at her. I was afraid that I would be vulnerable to a spell if I held her gaze too long. Good advice gleaned from the pages of another expert's publication on witches.

“Here, take this. You look hungry. It’s ok.” Her voice was soft and dovelike, no longer a screeching blue jay.

Was this a trick? I tried to speak but only a pitiful squeak came out.

 “Thank you”.

I was afraid to take it from her hand because surely my hands would shake, revealing that my bravado was false. She gently placed a white paper napkin on the desk and carefully laid the sandwich on it, just to the left of my open book with the smiling dolphin looking at me from the page.

“I’ll get you a small cup of water, but please be careful and don’t spill it, OK? Can you do that?”

She lifted her eyebrows and smiled. Not once had I seen her smile before. I found it curious that it changed the landscape of her face into something almost beautiful. But ever the skeptic, I wondered if that was also part of her witch’s power.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Afraid to move, I waited for her to grab me, shake me and use her blue jay voice to scream at me. Like witches do.

 She whispered, “And most importantly, don’t tell anyone that I let you drink near these books. We must protect them. Ok sweetie? It’s our secret.” Again, she smiled. This smile was was different. It reminded me of my grandma and melted any remaining resolve to resist. My dad always said that my grandma had a smile so warm that it could melt chocolate. He had been right. I missed her terribly, especially now. She had died about two years earlier, about the same time my mom started smelling like alcohol. And then my dad left for the war.

The librarian returned with the small Styrofoam cup of cool tap water.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re crying; please don’t cry…” My red eyes and wet cheeks announced my emotions.

“Am I in trouble? I’m not supposed to be here.”

She put her bony arm around my shoulder, but it didn’t feel scary. It felt safe. Like the last time grandma hugged me while we watched Flipper. She pulled me close to her chest and stroked my cheek.

“No. You are not in trouble, sweetheart. As a matter of fact, I need to call your mom to apologize for last week. Do you think she’ll talk to me if I call?”

I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and thought. Mom had been pretty mad, but after we arrived home last week, she cried. When I asked her why she was crying, she said it was because she knew how much I loved the library. And she didn’t know how to fix this problem.

“Yes, I think she’ll talk to you.”

The gray-haired librarian with the pointy nose and chin hugged me again. It was the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich ever.