The library book

I love books.

I spend hours hiding under my covers, soaking in every word, knowing there isn't possibly a thing that could go wrong. Riding an endless roller coaster, continuous adventure. The one time I can feel completely safe, knowing I am securely strapped to the seat, no matter how thrilling the ride.

The insufferable optimist, knowing no matter how bad things can be, they will always get better.

There's nothing that can take away that sense of security I had every single time I walked to the library and checked out a book to read. A whole world in my arms, as I happily walked it home like my best friend.

But it all changed that day.

Still happy as can be, I hugged the book before it slipped down the slot, as I waved good-bye knowing I'd see it again one day or the other.

Ignorance is bliss.

My fingers ran along the smooth spines of the perfectly bound covers. I picked up some books, hugging the new friends, as I checked them out before I left.

That was the last time I left the library with a smile.

It's been a week already, the books must be returned. I smile and grin, ready for another day at the library.

The books in my arms, the happiness radiating around me.

I was ready for a new adventure. I was starving for more.

One by one, thump, thump, thump. The books slipped down the slot, clunking to the bottom, waiting for another person to see the worlds pressed between those pages.

I swiftly marched to the shelves, eager to experience a new adventure. My fingers flying, tracing each spine of each cover. Finally, I had several books in my arms, the stories I treasured like the most valuable gem.

Slowly checking them out, one by one, grinning from ear to ear. I couldn't wait until I could join those characters, under the seas and above in the heavens.

Click.

The book stopped mid-slide.

What's happening, why isn't this working?

Stumbling under the weight of the books, I tumbled over to the librarian, hoping to receive some help.

"Excuse me, may I please ask why these books aren't checking in?", I asked politely, pointing to my pile of books.

"Let me check, I believe your account has been blocked...", the librarian held her glasses, peering over the rim, "It appears you have damaged a book before returning it. We have marked all the pages that appear damaged."

Slowly, she slid a book across the counter, the familiar cover catching my eyes.

WHAT!? Shocked, and angry about being accused of something I didn't do, I slowly picked the book up from the table, my hands trembling.

Sure enough, each post-it marked a page scribbled on with a colored pencil. I was outraged, "I would never do this to a book!"

Yet I had no proof.

If only I could tell her I never ate or drank with a book in my hands

If only I could tell her I never dog-eared a page.

If only I could tell her I treated the book like my closest friend.

But each word would only go in one ear and out the other.

Once my beloved friend, the book had become my enemy, as my stomach boiled with rage.

"What is it that you want me to do?", I asked, trying to sound calm to mask my growing anger.

Appearing to have not seen the delicacy of my patience, the librarian said, "What do you mean? Of course, you have to pay for the book. It is yours now. $29.99, please. Only cash or checks."

I gaped at her, wanting very much to smack the calm expression off her face, as I slowly reached into my pocket.

I knew that there was nothing I could do. If only I could reunite with my old friend under different circumstances.

With seething rage, I slid the cash across the counter and snatched the book before storming off to the drop-off station, dumping all the books into the slot.

I wouldn't bother reading them.

My sense of safety and security had been stolen from me.

The once-upon-a-time-optimist in my head would have told me it was a mistake, nothing more than that. But my pride told me otherwise.

There's no doubt about it. I will never go back to that library again.