Page 3 of The Librarian and the Rock Star

“What are your major talking points?”

He opened his eyes and looked at me as if I suddenly spoke another language and he didn’t understand. He tilted his head slightly like a confused puppy.

“You’re promoting the album, you’re supposed to talk about it. Talk about the singles, how you wrote it, where it was recorded and such, right?” He nodded. “Okay, what’s the most interesting thing that happened during recording?”

He stared at the alley wall behind me for a second. “When we ate way too much chocolate one night and changed a ballad into a super fast rockabilly tune.”

“Okay – don’t get distracted. Find a way to work that story into the interview. Answer their questions, but take off on tangents so that you get to talk about whatever you want. They want good stories. Give them what they want and you’ll get more time to talk.”

He was staring at me very strangely, and I found myself becoming self-conscious. I smoothed back my long auburn hair with my non-scraped hand and tried to remember if I had worn a little more than the basic amount of makeup today. I didn’t think so. I know I tend to look a little plain, although my friends have always said I had a pixie face.

He, on the other hand, was uncomfortably beautiful. Like how celebrities have that strange light from within, and their eyes are almost a little too pretty.

At last he nodded and smiled, greatly relieved. “Thanks.” He looked at me oddly. “Wow, I feel a lot better now that I know what my mission is. Seriously, thank you.” I just smiled, unsure of what else to say.

The door behind him cracked open, and a voice hollered, “Jack, get in here.”

“Coming,” he called behind him.

I didn’t want him to leave, but I couldn’t think of any reasonable reason for him to stay when he obviously had to get to work. He turned to go inside, then turned back. His eyes flickered to my hand a few times as if wanted to hold it again, but realized how odd that would be. “How do you know all this stuff?”

I couldn’t help but grin. “It’s my job to know everything. I’m a librarian.”

2. Librarian Life

Sometimes you work hard and get everything you want out of life. Sometimes you get what you deserve, or get what you need. And sometimes, Murphy’s Law kicks in like the insidious little bitch that it is. Then everything that can go wrong does, no matter how hard you’ve worked. No matter how much you’ve put your heart and soul into a project, you just keep getting kicked in the teeth.

It turned out that some of my dreams weren’t actually all I’d hoped for. And it turned out a few bits were actually part-time nightmares.

I’ve been fascinated with libraries my entire life. I grew up in a small town, and books were my whole world. I learned the days of the week because Saturdays were my own personal holy day – library day. I would read and reread every book in preparation for Saturday morning when I could turn them in and take out another batch.

I lived for the day that I’d be old enough for an adult library card, and could take out seven books instead of five. To me, that was the ultimate sign of maturity. I didn’t care about wearing makeup or being able to stay up late. I wanted to be old enough so that the library would trust me with seven books for the whole week.

I thought that the women who ran the library were the keepers of information. They were guardians of knowledge. They knew how to help everyone. If old Mrs. Brickton came in to pick up gardening books, they’d remind her that the history book she was asking about three months ago was in. They knew who was going camping and needed wildlife books. They could tell you if it was going to be a rough winter and suggest insulation and weather-proofing fix-it tomes.

When I was around seven years old, my parents were helping me decide what sorts of lessons or extracurricular activities I might be interested in. “Do you have any idea what sort of job you might like when you get older?” Mom had asked.

I thought long and hard about it, studying various jobs all week, but nothing seemed to inspire me. That Saturday morning I went to the library, and Miss Nancy smiled. “Good Morning, Keira, how are you today?”

The air seemed to swirl around me and time slowed for a moment. My entire brain screamed, “I can be a librarian!”

My hands were shaking as I set my returned books on the counter that was still a little too high for me. My mom looked at me strangely when I said, “Miss Nancy, how do I become a librarian?”

She beamed. Then we had the first of many wonderful chats.

3. When Good Things Go Sideways

The memories of my childhood library have dimmed, and sometimes seem a stale dream from long ago. Several years ago, I was so excited to graduate university, start my career, and get things moving. I worked like hell, and learned everything I could along the way.

Then when I realized that running a library at a small private college was just another corporate job in too many ways, I lost that spark. Sure, I had a nice little apartment, a few close friends, and far more followers on my social media than I should have. It turns out that my photos were very popular among people who enjoyed crumbling brick, decaying wood, and things that were falling apart around the edges.

Perhaps it was a metaphor for my life. Perhaps it was a welcome respite from all of the glossy, photo manipulated, polished bright photos that everyone else seems to post.

Meanwhile, at the career I had been dreaming about since I was a little girl, the shine had crumbled like cheap paint on the concrete wall during monsoon season. So many pointless meetings. Endless paperwork. Email chains that went on for weeks about the most excruciating minutia of procedures.

I wished that I had some fascinating hobbies to channel my energy, and fulfill my intellectual need for researching things at length. But at the end of the day I was usually so completely exhausted that I was wrung out. I made myself a quiet little dinner, watched Jeopardy, and went to bed early with a book. On weekends I went for long walks and tried to recharge, but it was never enough. The walls of the shell I hid in grew thicker.

I felt restless. Lost. Having never felt like this before, I didn’t know what to do about it. Should I find a new job? Take a break dancing class? Die my hair bright green and get a tattoo? I was far too young for a mid-life crisis, but it felt like that’s what was happening. The books seemed more real than my own life.

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