The Lucky Librarian

Loud voices shatter the ordinarily quiet atmosphere of the library’s main study room. Librarian Ambrose Bixby snatches two high school IDs off his desk and marches into the room. He slows down just long enough to signal for the security officer to join him. They approach two boys sitting at the back table.

“Don’t pretend to be studying now, Gentlemen. This is the third time I’ve had to speak to you about the noise you’re making. As I explained to you the first two times, your noise is disturbing the other patrons. I’m sorry, here’s your id card, Jamaal Miller, and here’s yours, Tyrone Braxton. I’ll send an Incident Report to your high school. You gentlemen will have to leave the library for today. Security Officer Jenkins and I will escort you out.”

Tyrone grabs his ID and laughs. “Oh. you the H-N-I-C, huh?”

Jenkins shields his mouth and whispers in Ambrose’s ear.  “That means, The Head Nigga In Charge.”

Ambrose glances at him. “I’m aware of what it means, Officer Jenkins.”

        Ambrose turns to the boys. “Gather your books, and let’s go.”

“Okay, we goin’.”

         As they head towards the exit, Tyrone turns and glares at Ambrose.

         “You gay, ain’t you?”

         “Why do you talk so much? Your friend isn’t saying anything,”

         “Well, that’s his business. Maybe he ain’t got nothing to say.”

         “Just keep walking, please.”

         “Yeah, I’ll keep walking, faggot. You know you gay cause ain’t no real nigga no librarian. Only females are librarians.”

         “If you keep talking, I’m going to suspend your library privileges for a month.”

         As the two boys exit, Tyrone turns. “See ya later, faggot!”

        Ambrose and the security officer watch as the boys walk away.

         Jenkins shakes his head. “What a mouth on that one, huh?”

         Ambrose sighs. “And that’s our future, Jenkins.”

         For the rest of the afternoon, Ambrose busies himself with either the never-ending paperwork or interacting with staff members. A knock on the door causes him to look up from his work.

         “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Ambrose, but I  just wanted to let you know I’m leaving now.”

         Ambrose checks his watch. “What? It’s nine o’clock already, Jenkins? Geez. Everyone else has left, huh?”

         “Yeah. Margaret went home about twenty minutes ago. Sorry, Mr. Ambrose.”

         Ambrose chuckles. “Hey, John, that’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

         They both laugh.  

         “I’ll lock up behind you, John. “

         “You’ll be okay here alone, Mr. Ambrose? I could stay if you want.”

         Ambrose pats Jenkins on the back. “Thanks for the offer, John, but I’ll be okay. In fact, I’ll be leaving in another half an hour or so. Have a good night. See you in the morning.”

         The two men shake hands. Ambrose locks the door, and then Jenkins jiggles the door handle to make sure it’s locked.

         Ambrose is halfway to his office when he hears a knock on the door.

         “Damn, John, what did you forget this time.” He thinks to himself.

         Stepping into the corridor, he peers down the hall through the glass doors. But there’s no one standing at the door. Ambrose turns away, but there’s another knock on the door.

Puzzled, he walks back to the door, thinking Jenkins may be in trouble. Unlocking and opening the door, Ambrose steps outside to investigate. He sees nothing out of place. As he returns to the building, Tyrone jumps out of the bushes, clutching a pistol in his hand. He sneers and then says, “Hello, faggot.”

         Tyrone orders Ambrose back into the building and into Ambrose’s office. A few times along the way, Ambrose thinks of trying to disarm the youth. But Tyrone handles the gun like a professional. When they reach the office, they sit opposite each other.

         “What can I do for you, Mr. Braxton?”  

         “You made me look bad in front of my boy, and I didn’t like it. Now, your ass is gonna pay.”

         Ambrose frowns.”Let me ask you a question, Mr. Braxton. Twice I asked you and Mr. Miller to keep your voices down. After the second time, I warned you what would happen if I had to remind you again. I kept my promise. I asked you to leave. Tell me. What would you have done if you were in my place?”

         Tyrone shifts in his chair. His eyes dart away from Ambrose’s stare for a moment.

         “Yeah, but you didn’t have to dis’ us like that.”

         “As I recall, Mr. Braxton. Mr. Miller left the building quietly. You were the one causing a scene. And again, I ask, what would you have done if you were in my shoes?”

         Tyrone laughs and points the gun at Ambrose.”Your shoes? I would be in no faggots shoes, ha-ha.”

         “You’re avoiding the question, Mr. Braxton.”

         “I  ain’t in school, and you ain’t my mother. I ain’t gotta answer you.”

         “You know what I think? I think you’re not going to answer because you know the answer.”

         “I do? What’s that?”

         “It hurts you to say, but you would have done what I did.”

         Tyrone leans forward. “Why do you know that?”

         “I believe you’re a smart guy. But you didn’t say you would do anything different than what I did.”

         “Well… well, I need to think about it, that’s all. Anyway, that ain’t what I’m here for. I’m here to kill your faggot ass.”

         Ambrose steeples his fingers and leans his elbows on the desk. “That another thing I want to ask you about. Why do you refer to gay people in such derogatory terms.?”

         “What?”

         “Why do you repeatedly use the term,’ faggot’?’

         “Because I don’t like gay people. I don’t like faggots,”

         “Do you know any gay people, Mr.Braxton?”

         “Look. I came here to deal with yo’ punk ass. Don’t try and talk about somethin’ else.”

“Okay. Let’s get to the point. Why do you want to kill me?”

“Because I told my man, Jamaal, I ain’t gonna let no faggot dis me and live.”

“You see, there you go again.”

“Wh-what?”

“Using the word,’ faggot’ again. Did you ever ask yourself why?”

“Look, none of your smart talk is gonna save your life. I gave my word. A man never goes back on his word. Never!”

“Tyrone, I’m not afraid of dying. I’m not trying to save my life. I’m trying to save yours.”

“What!. Nigga, you crazy! I got the gun.”

“Have you thought about what happens after you pull that trigger?”

Tyrone scowls.

Ambrose continues. “Yes, what’s going to happen when you pull the trigger on that Glock and kill me? I’ll tell you. You’ll not only go to prison, but you’ll also ruin the lives of your mother, your brothers, and your sisters. You’ll even change the life of your unborn children.”

Tyrone studies Ambrose.

Ambrose shrugs his shoulders. “Hey, Tyrone. I’m just telling you how it will be.”  

         For the first time, Tyrone lowers the gun.

         “So you see. Killing me is not the answer. It solves nothing.”

         Tyrone sat long-faced, shaking his head.

         “Maybe your right, but what do we do now, Mr. Ambrose?”

         “There’s no one here but you and me. If you place the weapon on the table, we’ll talk.”

         Tyrone stares at the gun. Slowly, he stands up and steps towards Ambrose’s desk. Tyrone pauses in front of the desk while Ambrose sits, arms folded across his chest. With the pistol pointing at Ambrose’s chest, the two keep eye contact.  Ambrose moistens his lips, takes a deep breath as he wonders what Tyrone will do next.

After a minute or two, Tyrone grimaces, then lays the Glock on the desk.

Ambrose picks up the pistol and examines it. He unloads the clip, then ejects the cartridge in the chamber.

         Tyrone walks back to the chair and plops down. Dejected, he bows his head and says, “I’ll wait here for the cops to come.”

         Ambrose gets up, walks to the front of his desk, and leans against it.

         “Tyrone, I became a librarian because I wanted to help people. I’m not calling the police on you. Having you arrested and put in jail will not help you. Earlier, you told me you’re a man of your word. And that when you gave your word, you don’t break it, right??”

         Tyrone nods.

         “Give me your word that you’ll never pull a stunt like this again, and we’ll forget this night ever happened.”

Ambrose offers his hand. Tyrone looks up, surprised, and shakes it.

“Now. Let’s talk about why you constantly use the word, ‘faggot’?”

Tyrone raises his head and blows out an audible sigh. “Mr. Ambrose, the reason why I use faggot is that…..”

                             To be continued.