metanoia's Diaryland Diary

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Liberrys

Library's feel like home to me - or Liberry's as my friends used to say in south central LA.

My "other mother" was a librarian and instead of walking to her house every day after school I would walk to the library.

It was a small branch library on the corner, with huge carob trees along the parkway in the front whose roots had lifted the sidewalk in some places. I would round the corner, open the door and it felt like home. I was not allowed in the adult book (not THAT kind, the kind with the big words) section, but I was allowed to hang out in the children's section. I read every damn book in that childrens section and began sneaking into the *gasp* adult non-fiction area. I read about dams and butterflies, I read the dictionary, I read the encyclopedias. I read it all.

It was always calm and quiet (sshhhhhh!) there, a stark difference from my tumultuous and dramatic home life. It was a peaceful place and comfortable. It was my haven.

Sometimes I would go in the back room where they repaired the books, helping to tape pages and reinforcing spines. It always smelled like glue and rubber cement. Sometimes they let me alphabetize the card catalog. I enjoyed putting it in order. I learned the Dewey decimal system. I ate cake in the back room, or did my homework. Once a couple of older kids got me and this little boy (we liked each other), Robert to kiss in the back room. We were caught! I guess all the sniggering and the absence of every damn kid in the liberry got some adults attention - Gee, ya think?

I loved the library - still do. I loved the books that took me a million lifetimes away from south central LA - still do. I loved the smell - still do. I loved walking through the stacks - still do.

Even now, when I walk into a library, it is calm and quiet (shhhhh!) and it smells like, well - it smells like home.

8:09 a.m. - 2006-07-13

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