Callum Oversly
02-19-2009, 09:15 PM
let me know if a second is worthwhile
To the Librarian Having a Quiet Day or: Will you Marry me? I Love Books.
“Everyone, get out your library cards.”
Almost every other Wednesday, Mrs. Ellis’ second grade class gathered their things in a neat and orderly fashion, cleaned up the classroom for when they would return, formed two single file lines at the door-led by line leaders, and walked down the hallway. At the end of the hall, under the clock, the school bus of children made their first stop. And after looking through one particular classroom window, Mrs. Ellis caught up to the lines. This was followed by two more right turns, a stop at each corner, and one final stop at two sets of double doors, under a sign the read ‘Library’
William was a child who went by Bill. There were three William’s in his class this year, including Bill, and he had been completely oblivious on the first day when they were picking what each of the three Williams would go by. Being the third choice, Mrs. Ellis had renamed him Bill.
Bill was towards the back of the line, as usual. He hadn’t heard when the teacher said, “It is time to go the Library, Class”, or he would have vied to get a better position, for the library was Bill’s favorite subject.
As it was, Bill had counted he would be the fourteenth or fifteenth child into the library, something that didn’t worry him. He knew all the locations of the books he was ready to check out, and knew that if he was quick, he could get to them before anyone new had the time to discover them. Though he know that if Mr. Rickman’s class (the class they shared library time with) had got there before him, his counting would be off and he might have to skip a book or two of the books on his list until the next ‘every other Wednesday’ that his class would go to the library.
Mitchell Skewely went by the name Brandon. As many children learn to do in elementary school, had convinced Mrs. Ellis to call him by his middle name, which he claimed he had been called his ‘whole-entire’ life, and a name he thought to be far better (His middle name, for the record, was actually Buford.). Mitchell was the line leader, and had walked as slow as his legs would allow him. Since kindergarten, he had perfected the art of dragging his heels, and on one memorable Wednesday he had even gone so far as to fake an injury, insisting he had sprained his ankle. To this, Mrs. Ellis had aptly reminded him that recess would be coming after the library, and that his ankle would be swollen and “unfortunately painful to be up and about on”, and that he would be smart to sit out. Upon hearing this, Mitchell’s youthful spirit, and ailing ankle defied hundreds of years of conventional medical wisdom, and healed. It was, as Mitchell put it ‘a miracle’. A boy who when Bill asked him “do you want to be my friend?”, replied “No”.
Falling behind of his line’s compliment was remedied by “please pick up the pace Mitchell”, softly and kindly advised by his line leading counterpart.
Despite all of Bill’s meticulous mental planning and preparation, of which book to find and in which order, he had forgotten all of his plans by the time he was out of his classroom door. That was just the kind of boy Bill was: The greatest of plans could be thought of and forgotten and usually re-thought of again in the time it takes a second grade class to walk to the library. Not the kind of boy who insists on being called his favorite name, rather, a boy who would be assigned the name Bill, and at that, a boy who hadn’t thought to question it. Now Bill was counting tiles.
“One,...,.... two,..., three,..., four,...” Bill sais softly to himself, he was now counting the tiles that he did not step on a single edge or corner, fitting his entire foot in the center, “perfect”, as he would say. This required the utmost of our young man’s concentration. This game was always the best way of passing the time in-between destinations.
Now they were at the end of the hall, ready for the first right turn, where the game usually ended, as usual. Bill, remembering he had something to remember, quickly remembered that he had a mental list and scrambled his mind trying to remember every book that he wanted in the order he wanted them, mapping out his rout through the library, picturing every step, and how to maneuver around potential distractions, and obstacles. As they were making the second right turn, approaching the two sets of double doors at the front of the library, the plan had been fully remembered, and the anticipation could be seen in Bill’s eyes. They were the excited eyes of a bear-cub learning to hunt.
As always, the two lines had to stop at the open Library door to let Mrs. Ellis in to notify the librarian that this would be an every other Wednesday that they did in-fact show up. Once she did, the class was permitted to enter the library.
“Now children, Remember to be on your best behavior. Once Mr. Rickman’s class arrives we’ll be going to the teacher’s lounge to discuss some new testing procedures. Mrs. Bannick will be the only one in charge, so if you have any questions, remember that you can always ask her. And remember, be on your best behavior, we surely wouldn’t have to miss any library visits because you can’t conduct yourselves, now would we?”
For a second, this watered a seed in the garden of Mitchell’s malevolent brain, but before mustering a plan, they were set free.
Mrs. Bannick was, in these student’s eyes, quite possibly the oldest and nicest person in the world. Although Mrs. Halesworth down the hall was the better part of seven years older, Mrs. Bannick had spent the last twenty-five years or so smoking cigarettes, so her looks, and her actions, were in fact much older. Her hairs were thin and grey and always perfectly shaped on Sunday, Gradually losing form until the next Sunday, after church, when she would get it done.
Now there was no counting. No one, no two, and no three or four. No time to waste. Feet were landing with no respect to floor pattern whatsoever.
Non-fiction, not Bill’s favorite part of the library, but everyone else’s. There had been a book that had made quite a splash among many of the second grade classes, a hot item, that had been checked out for eight consecutive two-week periods. It had been rumored to show actual pictures of a lizard eating an fly. But this wasn’t any picture of a Lizard eating a fly, the book had been shot with a high speed camera, and depicted this miraculous and awe inspiring feet of nature in three consecutive pictures. The first depicted the lizard and the fly, the second of the lizard’s tongue extended to full length catching, and the third of the creature gobbling the fly in one terrific bite, and looking very pleased. Word had gone around, from many different sources, that photographing with such precision was impossible. Leading to rumors, one started by Stanley F, who went by Stan, that in fact these were three different pictures of three different lizards. His argument, which can only eloquently be made by Stan went as such “They just made it look like it”. This was argued against vigorously by Cynthia Cane, who went by Cynth, who had also checked out the book. Cynth had claimed to be the first one who checked it out, and therefore had a vested interest in the matter. Her argument of “nuh-uh” was seen as much more credible, as most everyone knew Cynth actually read the books she checked out. And there was Dylan P., who went by Bradley, who claimed that after the pictures were taken, the fly escaped unharmed, unless, of course, he stated the pictures were in fact faked. Then all three of the flies most certainly died. But this was only believed by the Kindergartners, and of course, Dylan himself.
Bill found the book entitled “Habitat and Lifestyles of African Lizards”, with a subtitle “with actual feeding footage” in much worse condition than he had seen it, when a boy named David let him briefly flip through it before school had started when the children gather in the Gymnasium, two and a half weeks ago. There was an initial let down and Bill opened to the front inside cover to inspect the library card to see who had checked it out last, and roughed the edges, and scuffed the cover. All of the names were there... In fact, ... had been the first to start the chain of eight consecutive weeks, but would never say anything, as he had a crush on Cynthia, and from most obvious conclusions, had not wanted to get on here bad side. “Alan Dransby” he saw had been the last to check it out, something which after seeing he knew all along. Dransby wasn’t the kind of person you lend a pencil to.
“Dransby checked it out two weeks in a row!” Bill couldn’t keep himself from stating this audibly, and then quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard. But as quickly the dissappointment of the worsened condition came, it was forgotten once the book was closed, and tucked firmly between Bill’s arm and body. Now he was headed toward the fiction section.
Mrs. Ellis was currently in the fiction section, inspecting her hair in a place on the window she had found had a good reflection from the florescent lights. Also helping student’s and answering any questions with unthought-out answers.
Mrs. Ellis had now taken the habit of walking around in slow circles, from fiction, to non-fiction, to the area where the classes would gather for guest presentations, or to watch movies, and back to fiction. When Mrs. Ellis was approached by one of her student’s about whether or not she could go to the bathroom, Mrs. Ellis had replied “any book you want, sweetie”. When pressed again, she gave permission.
It was close to this time that a grey bearded man, not more than forty-five years old entered the Library with a class full of his own students.
In the instant upon seeing this Mrs. Ellis stopped inspecting her hair, as she would normally do, and asked a John Riley which books he was looking to check out.
“That’s very interesting” she said.
The grey bearded man walked his class in, gave them the same spiel Mrs. Ellis had given her class: to behave well, and not give poor Mrs. Bannick any trouble. He truly worried for her in the presence of such an energetic pair of classes these students must make.
The bearded man walked the library. Fiction, non-fiction, the area where the kids meet for assemblies, until finally reaching the area where Mrs. Ellis was helping her students. Her answers became more and more extraneous.
“Hello Mrs. Ellis.” The grey bearded man’s voice was soft to the touch. With a sincerity usually only faked in kindness when speaking to family members of an older nature.
“Mr. Rickman” Mrs. Ellis replied, looking through his kindest smile, and seeing absolutely nothing which it could be hiding. “How was P.E.?” She joked.
“I was first tagged out in dodgeball. It seems the students made a mission of aiming for me.” he replied without hesitation.
Mr. Rickman had long ago taken to participating in the Physical Education class. He had grown up a scrawny young man and avoided athletics altogether until the age of thrity-five; when he began to participate once again in Elementry level Physical Education. Which, for the matter of fact, was the last time he felt comfortable in physical activity of any competitive nature.
“It seems I’m quite the hot target around here” He added.
“Is that so?”
The Librarian, Mrs. Bannick was watching. She had been watching Mr. Rickman walk aloofly around the library. Watching Mrs. Ellis fumble with her words and with her student’s before and after he arrived. And was watching them now. And had watched them before. Her life had given her the ability to know what was what, and who was who before even having to ask any questions or confirm a single suspicion. She watched, then and now, with a graceful smile which had been used and used again.
Bill was now in the fiction section. With three books in hand, he had begun to switch arms which he carried them in as he felt them grow tired. The illusion of his arms getting tired had started this a habit when he first started checking out books, and was now quite the site to see. He would accelerate the changing of each hand signifying how quickly his thoughts were jumping, or when the books remained under one arm, how concentrated he was. The book which he was looking for was a book titled “Little Secrets, Big Mysteries”. It was written at the fourth grade level. When he found it Bill did his usual inspection, though he had no past experience to compare it to, and flipped through the pages which smelled that new book smell. A smell Bill had come to love; the smell of the unknown potential. The smell of paper; A deep breath of it. This always made Bill smile.
“I see you found some books Bill. Are you ready to check them out?” Mrs. Bannick had a knack for finding Bill, and for small talk with the more friendly students.
“I sure did!” The excitement of the smell had yet to ware off and Mrs. Bannick relished the joy.
“So? Which ones do you want to take home?” Mrs. Bannick always asked.
“These.” Unleashed Bill with no hesitation or second thought.
Mrs. Bannick reminded Bill, without alienating him, “There are four books there. You know that the rules are you can only check out two at a time. So which ones will it be?”
This was a rule he had willingly forgotten every other week for the past two and a half years.
“I don’t know.” Bill’s face changed from his usually unphaseable thoughtfulness expression to one of worry and deep thought.
“Well why don’t we take them to the check-out counter and I’ll help you decide.” Mrs. Bannicks soft voice immediately, and purposefully, vanquished Bill’s worries.
“Alright!”
Bill changed arms three times before they got to the counter as he was furiously thinking which two would have to wait, and which two would be his for the rest of the school day, the rest of the night, and the rest of the next two weeks.
Bill plopped all four books down on the table as a single bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.
“So Bill which of these books do you want the very most?” Mrs. Bannick had found the absolute best way to help children, especially bill, narrow down the choices in the least painful manner.
“I don’t know. There’s so many opportunities. I don’t want to miss a single one.”
The corners of Mrs. Bannicks honest and pleasant smile slightly dropped at this, as she couldn’t help but think of Mr. Rickman and Mrs. Ellis and the teachers lounge. “Yes there - are William.” her usually smooth and unaltered voice had gained an influx of emotion halfway through saying.
“I thought my name was Bill.”
“Yes, it is Bill, but I like the name William better; and I think you do too.” Mrs. Bannick had the wisdom which Bill lacked, but Bill was quite perceptive
“Whats wrong Mrs. Bannick?”
“Nothing Bill, nothing at all.” She spoke in a different tone than usual. With a longing that only a child could fully detect. Her mind was still wandering.
“Mrs. Bannick?” William asked, once again grabbing her attention.
“Yes Bill”
“Why do you look sad?” He had never seen her face like this before.
And she replied, “Oh Bill, you wouldn’t understand. I’m not sad. I’m just thinking.”
“Thinking of what?”
“Books” she replied, thinking of all of her past loves. “All of the books that I have read”
“I love books.”
“I know you do Bill, I love that about you?”
“Do you still read books? Or have you read them all.”
“I still read sometimes Bill, but I’ve read all of the classics, and I’ve enjoyed every one of them. But no one can read every book. Although I do know that you like to try. You’re just like me that way. But I slowed down, and I got old, and I already have my favorites”
“Like James in the Giant Peach?” Bill asked.
“That is your favorite book isn’t it. You’ve checked it out before and you’ll check it out again. I have my favorite too, except I don’t have to read them again to remember how much I loved them” thinking back to 1975 “I’ve checked out a lot of books, William. My library card is full of names.” She smiled again, this brought a smile to Bill, “Oh what am I saying?”
“Mrs. Bannick?”
“Yes Bill?”
“Will you call me William?”
Now, with the corners of her mouth in their proper place, she said “Of course I will, William” This, and their conversation returned the corners of her smile to their proper place. Where they looked best.
“Thank you”
“Thank you, Mr. William. That Mr. Rickman, does he
seem nice to you?”
“Very nice”
“He seems very nice to me too.”
“Mrs. Bannick,
“Yes Bill”
“You’re the nicest girl I know. Will you marry me?”
“Oh Bill.. William. I’m much too old for you. You need to find someone a little closer to your own age.”
“I’m already seven!”
“Yes you are”
Bill narrowed down his decision, and checked out his books. He had left the check out counter to where the other children have all ended up grouping together. William went to over to where a nice girl he had talked to in class before, one who had not left him terribly confused, and opened his mouth.
“Hi Elida!” Bill said.
“Hi Will.” She responded.
“I like books”
“I know William”
Then Bill gathered his courage, and asked, “Will you
marry me?”
At this moment the teachers get back from their break.
“Not now Will” She said. “I think we have to get in line.”
To the Librarian Having a Quiet Day or: Will you Marry me? I Love Books.
“Everyone, get out your library cards.”
Almost every other Wednesday, Mrs. Ellis’ second grade class gathered their things in a neat and orderly fashion, cleaned up the classroom for when they would return, formed two single file lines at the door-led by line leaders, and walked down the hallway. At the end of the hall, under the clock, the school bus of children made their first stop. And after looking through one particular classroom window, Mrs. Ellis caught up to the lines. This was followed by two more right turns, a stop at each corner, and one final stop at two sets of double doors, under a sign the read ‘Library’
William was a child who went by Bill. There were three William’s in his class this year, including Bill, and he had been completely oblivious on the first day when they were picking what each of the three Williams would go by. Being the third choice, Mrs. Ellis had renamed him Bill.
Bill was towards the back of the line, as usual. He hadn’t heard when the teacher said, “It is time to go the Library, Class”, or he would have vied to get a better position, for the library was Bill’s favorite subject.
As it was, Bill had counted he would be the fourteenth or fifteenth child into the library, something that didn’t worry him. He knew all the locations of the books he was ready to check out, and knew that if he was quick, he could get to them before anyone new had the time to discover them. Though he know that if Mr. Rickman’s class (the class they shared library time with) had got there before him, his counting would be off and he might have to skip a book or two of the books on his list until the next ‘every other Wednesday’ that his class would go to the library.
Mitchell Skewely went by the name Brandon. As many children learn to do in elementary school, had convinced Mrs. Ellis to call him by his middle name, which he claimed he had been called his ‘whole-entire’ life, and a name he thought to be far better (His middle name, for the record, was actually Buford.). Mitchell was the line leader, and had walked as slow as his legs would allow him. Since kindergarten, he had perfected the art of dragging his heels, and on one memorable Wednesday he had even gone so far as to fake an injury, insisting he had sprained his ankle. To this, Mrs. Ellis had aptly reminded him that recess would be coming after the library, and that his ankle would be swollen and “unfortunately painful to be up and about on”, and that he would be smart to sit out. Upon hearing this, Mitchell’s youthful spirit, and ailing ankle defied hundreds of years of conventional medical wisdom, and healed. It was, as Mitchell put it ‘a miracle’. A boy who when Bill asked him “do you want to be my friend?”, replied “No”.
Falling behind of his line’s compliment was remedied by “please pick up the pace Mitchell”, softly and kindly advised by his line leading counterpart.
Despite all of Bill’s meticulous mental planning and preparation, of which book to find and in which order, he had forgotten all of his plans by the time he was out of his classroom door. That was just the kind of boy Bill was: The greatest of plans could be thought of and forgotten and usually re-thought of again in the time it takes a second grade class to walk to the library. Not the kind of boy who insists on being called his favorite name, rather, a boy who would be assigned the name Bill, and at that, a boy who hadn’t thought to question it. Now Bill was counting tiles.
“One,...,.... two,..., three,..., four,...” Bill sais softly to himself, he was now counting the tiles that he did not step on a single edge or corner, fitting his entire foot in the center, “perfect”, as he would say. This required the utmost of our young man’s concentration. This game was always the best way of passing the time in-between destinations.
Now they were at the end of the hall, ready for the first right turn, where the game usually ended, as usual. Bill, remembering he had something to remember, quickly remembered that he had a mental list and scrambled his mind trying to remember every book that he wanted in the order he wanted them, mapping out his rout through the library, picturing every step, and how to maneuver around potential distractions, and obstacles. As they were making the second right turn, approaching the two sets of double doors at the front of the library, the plan had been fully remembered, and the anticipation could be seen in Bill’s eyes. They were the excited eyes of a bear-cub learning to hunt.
As always, the two lines had to stop at the open Library door to let Mrs. Ellis in to notify the librarian that this would be an every other Wednesday that they did in-fact show up. Once she did, the class was permitted to enter the library.
“Now children, Remember to be on your best behavior. Once Mr. Rickman’s class arrives we’ll be going to the teacher’s lounge to discuss some new testing procedures. Mrs. Bannick will be the only one in charge, so if you have any questions, remember that you can always ask her. And remember, be on your best behavior, we surely wouldn’t have to miss any library visits because you can’t conduct yourselves, now would we?”
For a second, this watered a seed in the garden of Mitchell’s malevolent brain, but before mustering a plan, they were set free.
Mrs. Bannick was, in these student’s eyes, quite possibly the oldest and nicest person in the world. Although Mrs. Halesworth down the hall was the better part of seven years older, Mrs. Bannick had spent the last twenty-five years or so smoking cigarettes, so her looks, and her actions, were in fact much older. Her hairs were thin and grey and always perfectly shaped on Sunday, Gradually losing form until the next Sunday, after church, when she would get it done.
Now there was no counting. No one, no two, and no three or four. No time to waste. Feet were landing with no respect to floor pattern whatsoever.
Non-fiction, not Bill’s favorite part of the library, but everyone else’s. There had been a book that had made quite a splash among many of the second grade classes, a hot item, that had been checked out for eight consecutive two-week periods. It had been rumored to show actual pictures of a lizard eating an fly. But this wasn’t any picture of a Lizard eating a fly, the book had been shot with a high speed camera, and depicted this miraculous and awe inspiring feet of nature in three consecutive pictures. The first depicted the lizard and the fly, the second of the lizard’s tongue extended to full length catching, and the third of the creature gobbling the fly in one terrific bite, and looking very pleased. Word had gone around, from many different sources, that photographing with such precision was impossible. Leading to rumors, one started by Stanley F, who went by Stan, that in fact these were three different pictures of three different lizards. His argument, which can only eloquently be made by Stan went as such “They just made it look like it”. This was argued against vigorously by Cynthia Cane, who went by Cynth, who had also checked out the book. Cynth had claimed to be the first one who checked it out, and therefore had a vested interest in the matter. Her argument of “nuh-uh” was seen as much more credible, as most everyone knew Cynth actually read the books she checked out. And there was Dylan P., who went by Bradley, who claimed that after the pictures were taken, the fly escaped unharmed, unless, of course, he stated the pictures were in fact faked. Then all three of the flies most certainly died. But this was only believed by the Kindergartners, and of course, Dylan himself.
Bill found the book entitled “Habitat and Lifestyles of African Lizards”, with a subtitle “with actual feeding footage” in much worse condition than he had seen it, when a boy named David let him briefly flip through it before school had started when the children gather in the Gymnasium, two and a half weeks ago. There was an initial let down and Bill opened to the front inside cover to inspect the library card to see who had checked it out last, and roughed the edges, and scuffed the cover. All of the names were there... In fact, ... had been the first to start the chain of eight consecutive weeks, but would never say anything, as he had a crush on Cynthia, and from most obvious conclusions, had not wanted to get on here bad side. “Alan Dransby” he saw had been the last to check it out, something which after seeing he knew all along. Dransby wasn’t the kind of person you lend a pencil to.
“Dransby checked it out two weeks in a row!” Bill couldn’t keep himself from stating this audibly, and then quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard. But as quickly the dissappointment of the worsened condition came, it was forgotten once the book was closed, and tucked firmly between Bill’s arm and body. Now he was headed toward the fiction section.
Mrs. Ellis was currently in the fiction section, inspecting her hair in a place on the window she had found had a good reflection from the florescent lights. Also helping student’s and answering any questions with unthought-out answers.
Mrs. Ellis had now taken the habit of walking around in slow circles, from fiction, to non-fiction, to the area where the classes would gather for guest presentations, or to watch movies, and back to fiction. When Mrs. Ellis was approached by one of her student’s about whether or not she could go to the bathroom, Mrs. Ellis had replied “any book you want, sweetie”. When pressed again, she gave permission.
It was close to this time that a grey bearded man, not more than forty-five years old entered the Library with a class full of his own students.
In the instant upon seeing this Mrs. Ellis stopped inspecting her hair, as she would normally do, and asked a John Riley which books he was looking to check out.
“That’s very interesting” she said.
The grey bearded man walked his class in, gave them the same spiel Mrs. Ellis had given her class: to behave well, and not give poor Mrs. Bannick any trouble. He truly worried for her in the presence of such an energetic pair of classes these students must make.
The bearded man walked the library. Fiction, non-fiction, the area where the kids meet for assemblies, until finally reaching the area where Mrs. Ellis was helping her students. Her answers became more and more extraneous.
“Hello Mrs. Ellis.” The grey bearded man’s voice was soft to the touch. With a sincerity usually only faked in kindness when speaking to family members of an older nature.
“Mr. Rickman” Mrs. Ellis replied, looking through his kindest smile, and seeing absolutely nothing which it could be hiding. “How was P.E.?” She joked.
“I was first tagged out in dodgeball. It seems the students made a mission of aiming for me.” he replied without hesitation.
Mr. Rickman had long ago taken to participating in the Physical Education class. He had grown up a scrawny young man and avoided athletics altogether until the age of thrity-five; when he began to participate once again in Elementry level Physical Education. Which, for the matter of fact, was the last time he felt comfortable in physical activity of any competitive nature.
“It seems I’m quite the hot target around here” He added.
“Is that so?”
The Librarian, Mrs. Bannick was watching. She had been watching Mr. Rickman walk aloofly around the library. Watching Mrs. Ellis fumble with her words and with her student’s before and after he arrived. And was watching them now. And had watched them before. Her life had given her the ability to know what was what, and who was who before even having to ask any questions or confirm a single suspicion. She watched, then and now, with a graceful smile which had been used and used again.
Bill was now in the fiction section. With three books in hand, he had begun to switch arms which he carried them in as he felt them grow tired. The illusion of his arms getting tired had started this a habit when he first started checking out books, and was now quite the site to see. He would accelerate the changing of each hand signifying how quickly his thoughts were jumping, or when the books remained under one arm, how concentrated he was. The book which he was looking for was a book titled “Little Secrets, Big Mysteries”. It was written at the fourth grade level. When he found it Bill did his usual inspection, though he had no past experience to compare it to, and flipped through the pages which smelled that new book smell. A smell Bill had come to love; the smell of the unknown potential. The smell of paper; A deep breath of it. This always made Bill smile.
“I see you found some books Bill. Are you ready to check them out?” Mrs. Bannick had a knack for finding Bill, and for small talk with the more friendly students.
“I sure did!” The excitement of the smell had yet to ware off and Mrs. Bannick relished the joy.
“So? Which ones do you want to take home?” Mrs. Bannick always asked.
“These.” Unleashed Bill with no hesitation or second thought.
Mrs. Bannick reminded Bill, without alienating him, “There are four books there. You know that the rules are you can only check out two at a time. So which ones will it be?”
This was a rule he had willingly forgotten every other week for the past two and a half years.
“I don’t know.” Bill’s face changed from his usually unphaseable thoughtfulness expression to one of worry and deep thought.
“Well why don’t we take them to the check-out counter and I’ll help you decide.” Mrs. Bannicks soft voice immediately, and purposefully, vanquished Bill’s worries.
“Alright!”
Bill changed arms three times before they got to the counter as he was furiously thinking which two would have to wait, and which two would be his for the rest of the school day, the rest of the night, and the rest of the next two weeks.
Bill plopped all four books down on the table as a single bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.
“So Bill which of these books do you want the very most?” Mrs. Bannick had found the absolute best way to help children, especially bill, narrow down the choices in the least painful manner.
“I don’t know. There’s so many opportunities. I don’t want to miss a single one.”
The corners of Mrs. Bannicks honest and pleasant smile slightly dropped at this, as she couldn’t help but think of Mr. Rickman and Mrs. Ellis and the teachers lounge. “Yes there - are William.” her usually smooth and unaltered voice had gained an influx of emotion halfway through saying.
“I thought my name was Bill.”
“Yes, it is Bill, but I like the name William better; and I think you do too.” Mrs. Bannick had the wisdom which Bill lacked, but Bill was quite perceptive
“Whats wrong Mrs. Bannick?”
“Nothing Bill, nothing at all.” She spoke in a different tone than usual. With a longing that only a child could fully detect. Her mind was still wandering.
“Mrs. Bannick?” William asked, once again grabbing her attention.
“Yes Bill”
“Why do you look sad?” He had never seen her face like this before.
And she replied, “Oh Bill, you wouldn’t understand. I’m not sad. I’m just thinking.”
“Thinking of what?”
“Books” she replied, thinking of all of her past loves. “All of the books that I have read”
“I love books.”
“I know you do Bill, I love that about you?”
“Do you still read books? Or have you read them all.”
“I still read sometimes Bill, but I’ve read all of the classics, and I’ve enjoyed every one of them. But no one can read every book. Although I do know that you like to try. You’re just like me that way. But I slowed down, and I got old, and I already have my favorites”
“Like James in the Giant Peach?” Bill asked.
“That is your favorite book isn’t it. You’ve checked it out before and you’ll check it out again. I have my favorite too, except I don’t have to read them again to remember how much I loved them” thinking back to 1975 “I’ve checked out a lot of books, William. My library card is full of names.” She smiled again, this brought a smile to Bill, “Oh what am I saying?”
“Mrs. Bannick?”
“Yes Bill?”
“Will you call me William?”
Now, with the corners of her mouth in their proper place, she said “Of course I will, William” This, and their conversation returned the corners of her smile to their proper place. Where they looked best.
“Thank you”
“Thank you, Mr. William. That Mr. Rickman, does he
seem nice to you?”
“Very nice”
“He seems very nice to me too.”
“Mrs. Bannick,
“Yes Bill”
“You’re the nicest girl I know. Will you marry me?”
“Oh Bill.. William. I’m much too old for you. You need to find someone a little closer to your own age.”
“I’m already seven!”
“Yes you are”
Bill narrowed down his decision, and checked out his books. He had left the check out counter to where the other children have all ended up grouping together. William went to over to where a nice girl he had talked to in class before, one who had not left him terribly confused, and opened his mouth.
“Hi Elida!” Bill said.
“Hi Will.” She responded.
“I like books”
“I know William”
Then Bill gathered his courage, and asked, “Will you
marry me?”
At this moment the teachers get back from their break.
“Not now Will” She said. “I think we have to get in line.”