Library Dreams

Library Dreams

I stumbled in to the one place I could call a refuge. I scanned once more for any stragglers. ‘They don’t belong here anyway,’ I think to myself, babying the door until it

shuts, ‘This is my library.’

I eagerly crawl up the stairs to the novel section, my favorite. I pick another classic from the rows and rows of rich, thick volumes. I breathe in the booky smell, my hands glide over the cover, I cherish the sound as I hear the binding crack open. 

I begin to read, getting lost in the worlds, Victorian England with Sherlock Holmes, or the Yukon gold rush with Buck. 

I read everything and everything, all I can find in the novel section. I sit in the squishy beanbags, reading and reading without as much as moving a muscle. This is the only way I can read so I read long and deep every weekend. 

I live in a small house on the poorer side of small city in New York. It’s not the city most think of, New York City, but the new, smaller city of Brooklyn. 

I live next to a dumpster and in front of a small park that is usually abandoned, except for when I or my four siblings – all brothers – play on it. 

My dad is a brick layer for a small construction company. He barely got a high school’s level of education. My mom lived in Texas on a poor cotton plantation as a kid and when her boss could afford to let her go to school, she would. But because she was a girl, her education wasn’t valued as much, and she got an eight grader’s education. 

Because my parents were so poorly educated, they want me and my four brothers to exceed them, which is why I try to immerse myself in books so much, but it is hard to do much more since we are so poor.

I work in a factory all days of the week and have never really had a formal education. The next siblings down from me, my brothers, ten and eight, work as newsies. Ma stays with the other two at home, who are five and three. 

I come to my library on Saturday nights, since on Sundays no one does anything, and I don’t work.  

It is Sunday morning now. I’ve been here two hours. The time flies! I gotta get home and get some sleep. 

Monday early morning I awake, and my two littler brothers still sleep quietly, so it is quiet. I rise and dress in my dirty dress. I have two dresses, and I rotate them each week. This week it is the one with stripes, and a faded flower at the pocket. I pull on the threadbare socks then boots. I re-braid my hair and put my bandana over my wild braids. Working next to machinery is dangerous, and I want to keep my hair. 

My mother is sitting at the table, rocking my littlest brother, Joe. 

“Good morning,” I whisper to her, reaching into the cupboards for a piece of bread. 

She whispers back to me, “Good morning, Meg. Are you ready for work today? Papa is ready if you are.” 

I stuff the piece of bread in my mouth. Nodding, I walk out to meet my dad. My dad is a handsome man, but bad postured since he bends over all day laying bricks. He has nice hair that isn’t gray yet, and a thick mustache that sits on his upper lip, usually curled in a smile. 

He takes off his cap and runs his hands through his hair, then opens them wide to hug me. “Good morning, sunshine.” He says, wrapping me in a big hug. 

I smile, running into the outstretched arms. I love when he calls me sunshine. 

My two younger brothers run out, disrupting the quiet morning. Bob and Jack have to go to work this early too. 

My dad drops the boys off in ‘newsies square’ where they collect their newspapers for the day and then he takes me to the mill. 

By now it is five-thirty in the morning. I take out my little sandwich from the lunch my mother packed for me and nibble on the crust. I walk up the stairs to the building and enter, punching my card and reporting to Mr. Bumbly, the manager. 

I worked all day and tiredly walk home, dragging my legs on the pavement. I nibble on the last of my lunch. When you’re poor you learn to make things last real long. 

I am grateful when I see our house, and see my mother playing as best she can with Joe and Tommy, the boys who stay at home. Soon they will be joined with another kid, which I am guessing will be another boy, since that’s all the stork brings.

I squat outside the house on the porch, pulling out the remains of my lunch. Just as I expected, Joe and Tommy run over, wanting my lunch. 

I break my cookie up into thirds and give them each two bites of my apple half. We laugh and giggle for a while, but then Ma wants help. 

My job is never done as the oldest. 

I groan softly and get up, leaving Jack and Tommy to run back and play at the park. Dad will be home soon, so they are safe. 

I enter, and I see Ma sitting by the stove, looking tuckered out. She looks at me sweetly and calls me to her. 

“Hi, baby,” she says, untying my sweat soaked bandana from my head. “How was your day?” 

I nod, letting her caress my head. “It was work,” I tell her, kneeling at her side.

She nods, looking off and out the window, watching Joe and Tommy. “I know, dear. I wish you and the boys didn’t have to work. I wish we could afford better for y’all.” 

I nod, pressing my head against her knee. She tell me this every day after work, and every day I wish it was true. 

A couple months pass, and little Gretchen is born. We call her Betty. 

I can’t wait to take her to my library. 

It’s now July, two months after Betty’s arrival and Dad and me are the only ones going to work. The boys are on strike against the World. After the war, the war prices for papers had not gone down and my brothers and the other newsies are fed up. 

Every morning for days I would wake up at four while the boys and Betty slept until five or six. I steamed with jealousy, I hated working too! It wasn’t fair; I wasn’t a newsie! 

The strike lasted at least two weeks…two weeks of my simmering jealousy. Finally, the boys went back to work. They were happy, but I thought it was a big waste of time; they were still working. If me and my factory went on strike, I would strike to end the work in factories. 

Dad says there was a law passed on factories, but I’m still working there. 

All I want is to go to school and visit the library and actually be able to check out a book. Maybe sometime soon.