Monday, March 03, 2008

the habits of an addict

Books have to be heavy because the whole world’s inside them.—Cornelia Funke, Inkheart

We are the Jasons; we have won the fleece.—Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

I’m beginning to wonder if I have a serious problem. The librarians certainly seem to think so.

I come to the library alone, half an hour before closing, and try to look innocent until I can duck out of sight, behind the kids’ stacks. And then, from my coat sleeve, I pull the handwritten list of the books I’m hoping to find. I move quickly, tucking books into my large red bag, muttering those three-letter call numbers over and over as I work down the aisles. (There’s a girl at the far end of one aisle who backs away when she sees me. Do I look too focused? I smile. But instead of looking reassured, she seems to change her mind about the value of visiting the library.)

Then into the adult side: science fiction, general fiction, mystery, classics. Anything is fair game tonight. My bag fills too quickly—I pause at a table in the back, and a man studying nearby looks concerned as I wrestle books into and out of my bag. After rearranging, I can squeeze two more in, but the rest have to be carried in a stack that reaches to my chin.

As they announce fifteen minutes until closing, I struggle up to the front desk and set the pile before a librarian. “Could you tell me what the limit is?” I try to sound unconcerned. “Seventy-five items,” she answers wearily, addressing herself to my stack of books. “Oh! Good!” And I hoist my bag onto the counter and unload it as well.

“Your record says that you’ve ordered twelve books through interlibrary loan,” she comments after scanning my card. “That’s right.” I still feel a thrill over interlibrary loan. I can find almost any book or DVD I could want, order it from home on the Internet, and it arrives in my library in a week or less. It’s like Amazon.com, only free. What’s not to love? Why aren’t people dancing in the streets?

The librarian scans my books very slowly, as if to drive home the gravity of my situation. I decide against telling her that my list of “books to read” runs for ten pages, in two columns, on my computer. Tonight’s run just scratches the surface, but no need to distress her further. “Is this for a class?” she asks suddenly, hope in her eyes. “No, no. Just for me.”

I almost say I was born like this—I want to point out that I’m genetically predisposed to have a book addiction. Instead, I try to look as normal as possible. I’m just your average twenty-three year old unemployed kid, who goes on book binges after dark at her local library. The world is full of people like me, right?

Nevertheless, she pauses from time to time to peer at me over the top of the stack. Maybe I look too dangerous, with my fingerless gloves and wind-tousled hair, leg warmers peeking from beneath my jeans. The librarian purses her lips—clearly she doesn’t want me to cart these books off to who-knows-where. But it’s too late.

“That’s twenty-six items in total,” she announces grimly as the computer spits out a receipt longer than my grocery list. “And they’re due back in two weeks.” I nod and scoop my charges back into their bag, balance the others in my free hand, and struggle out the door. “Have a good night,” I say to the guy outside who stares at me open-mouthed.

Two weeks, ha. The same on-line program that lets me order books from home also lets me renew them twice. I know I have at least six weeks before any of these babies have to reappear. I spread them out on my floor at home and read the first page of each, debating about where to start.

Right about then, my library high becomes most acute. I feel dizzy, exhilarated, and wealthier than Donald Trump. Twenty-six books! Twelve more on the way! And it’s only eight o’clock—I could read all night, all week, all month long…—jl

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 03/03 at 06:27 PM
(0) Trackbacks • Permalink

<< Back to main