An Important Re-discovery

A green dragon lived in the first library of my memory.

She rested in a loft set in the corner of the Children and Young Adult section and her serpentine neck routinely slid over the railing to better see the tiny creatures scuttling between the rows of books below.  She'd uncoil and test the air with her thin obsidian tongue, tick her front claws against the wood rails that bordered her pillow-and-beanbag lair, and swing her maw down over her visitors to ensure they were maintaining an appropriate voice level.  I never actually saw it happen, but I heard in later years that there was one poor bastard who failed to recognize the dragon's authority in that place, acted a fool near the Choose-Your-Own Adventure books, and was swallowed whole--curly orange hair and all.

I spent many days there with my mother, beneath the warm eyes of the great beast.  We'd pull random books from the shelves to examine the illustrations or subject (Harry Allard, James Marshall, Garfield, superheroes, and Beverly Cleary being among the more common selections), amble quietly back to the tiny round tables that smelled faintly of antiseptic and begin reading.  Ma would occasionally wander over to the opposite side of the library to look through that other junk, The Thick Books Without Pictures of Any Sort.  We'd pick out a good pile of books, check them out, drive home, and return the following week.  It was the greatest of places.

My high school library was far less whimsical.  It was cold, compartmentalized, and lonely.  Privacy desks were honeycombed througout the place, and one could disappear easily in them.  I'd smuggle my food, homework, and shitty attitude in there to commune with the high school spirits of yore, Misunderstood and his brother, Smart-Mouth.  There was no majestic dragon in this library, just a frumpish gray ogre who wouldn't stand for any ballyhoo.

The college library was apporpriately vast.  Books everywhere.  Never the one that was needed.  Irritation wafted along the shelves and mixed with the panic of those students racing to finish their papers, mid-term or final exams.  Indignant professors who sputtered to the stonefaced Reserves attendant, "Don't you know who I am?!  I work here!  I'm a big deal!"  At times, it was a frustrating place to be.  There were days, though, when I could find a quiet corner or chair, settle in, read a bit, and sleep.

The college days ended, as did my visitation of any library.  Bookstores became the supplier of words for me, and they eventually all came to a dusty rest on my bookshelves.  Last week, I culled many of them and traded them in at a local used book store for a pile of new books for my son to enjoy.  And I ventured back to the local library.  It was incredible and I was overjoyed.  It was quiet, full of thick chairs and couches, clean tables, privacy, and coffee.  All that was missing was the dragon.