Sissy is a model library patron and could perhaps be the Patron Saint of Libraries. Her card remains free and clear of any fines and if you ask her, even after a few drinks, she'll know exactly when each book is due.
I think she paid five cents back in 1998 when a blizzard immobilized the town and she couldn't snowshoe down to the village library to return her books. The thought of not returning her books on time sends her into a Class III panic attack. She thinks the library police will issue a warrant. Throw her in jail. Put her in the fake stocks in front of Dan'l Webster Restaurant on Main Street.
Her books are neatly stacked on her beside table and she doesn't bend back the pages. You'll find no hidden tissues or splatters of coffee or crumbs among her returns. She uses a pretty little bookmark with a lovely grosgrain ribbon, and the thought of eating or drinking anywhere near a book is a flagrant violation of her 11th Commandment- "thou shall not eat nor drink within ten feet of a library book."
Unfortunately, I never leaned that commandment in Sunday School, but instead learned that one way to really upset my teacher was to look out the window and watch all my Catholic friends riding their bikes and playing tag because they had been dragged to Mass on Saturday. This was one reason why I wanted so desperately to be Catholic-I wouldn't have to be stuck in church on Sunday. And I loved their cute plaid uniforms, too.
I've had a problem with library books since the 4th grade when I left a towering stack of brand new library books out in a summer thunderstorm. There was nothing worse that seeing that wet stack of paper, the pages stuck together, my heart beating faster than the torrential rains that poured down from the skies and ruined my books. And when I tried to gently pry the pages apart, they simply disintegrated. Luckily, my father paid for the books and although I was grateful at the time, his generosity set in motion a disturbing yet unintentional trend that continues to this day and in fact has woven itself into the next generation of Jones', saddling them with this literary curse.
If only my father had made me pay for the books, forced me to sell lemonade on the street corner, rake leaves in the fall and shovel snow in the winter -this debt would have crossed a few seasons- perhaps I would have learned one of those invaluable life altering lessons. But instead, he settled the bill with the snippy librarian and I was free to abuse my borrowing privileges once again.
Over and over, I would lose books or return them well past their due date. I've always thought of the due date as the suggested date of return and that's where I got into trouble. Plus, one or two pennies a day that was levied against my card didn't break the bank. Eventually, I'd return the books, either shoving them through the book deposit slot well after the library ladies had loosened their buns or quickly emptying the book bag on the returns counter and fleeing into the fiction section, getting lost between the rows of Hoffman and Picoult.
When it was time to borrow a new load, I would hand over my card, they'd scan it and look pensively at the hidden screen, followed by a shake of the head, a purse of the lips, a genuine scowl of disdain.
"I know. I owe a fine. I have a terrible problem with returning books on time," I'd offer.
"Why don't you just take out one," suggested more than one librarian.
"Well, you never know if you've got a good book so I am ensuring that I will have something good to read."
And then I'd pay my fine, usually with a check because I don't carry much cash on me and I'd always throw a bit extra in to satisfy some self imposed need for punitive damages. But when I discovered that our library's fines go directly to the Town, and not the library, I stopped putting in the extra few bucks and paid my fines right to the cent.
This terrible cycle repeated itself over the course of the last few decades until a new no-nonsense librarian marched into the library and decided to fix my wagon. Raising her eyebrows just above her glasses, she made it known that I was a repeat offender who needed a stiffer sentence- humiliation.
"You have a $25.00 fine," she said in a very loud voice. Patrons looked up from their reading, turned their heads to look at the dead-beat borrower.
"Umm...I don't have my wallet on me," I said.
"What? Don't you know it's illegal to drive without your license?"
I'm surprised she didn't call in the law. But she didn't let me take out any books.
That's when I borrowed the husband's card. And that's where the circle of my library life finally closed.
My library tote, stuffed with a load of woefully overdue books, had been riding in my car for weeks, getting stepped on by muddy cleats and crushed by gallons of laundry detergent and milk. When I finally got round to returning the books, the bag was a bit damp- well, it was dripping, like a faucet with a bad washer. One of my water bottles had leaked all over those darn books. Weren't those caps supposed to stay put?
The nightmare of the summer of 1971 had come full circle.
But this time, I was on the hook for well over a hundred dollars.
The library was quick to write off the books as damaged based on my rather dismal track record. I think books read better when they share the same character flaws as the characters inside. But the library didn't agree. So I am left without a card. I can look, but I can't borrow. I can wander the great stacks, running my hands over the spines of Sally Gunning's, The Widow's War and Cormac McCarthy's The Road, but they never will ride the streets of Sandwich with me.
My sister, my neighbor, teen boy, teen girl and close friends have their cards under key- whenever I ask if they'll lend me their cards, they laugh.
I guess I should feel lucky.....the library hasn't figured out that a Library Wall of Shame might actually work. And the Police haven't issued a warrant like they did to that poor girl I saw on Inside Edition who had one overdue book. Based on my record, they'd have to call in the SWAT team. And I'm pretty sure they're a bit busy these days.
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