A Place Exercise: Ode to Libraries

Libraries are a favorite place of mine. Rows of books, neatly organized by author and the Dewey Decimal system. The smell of paper, glue, and dust. Not overwhelming, as in some used bookstores where the dust pan has yet to be invented, and dust motes are busy learning to use other dust motes as clothing, and creep along aisles, ducking behind books, in their every constant desire to hunt the vicious dust bunny. Library dust motes are of a different sort, idles, lazy, like cherry blossom petals in every bad anime ever made, floating and swirling among the books and shelves, fearful to set foot upon anything that a vicious librarian might come along and clean with a vengeance. But people can settle here, in this timeless place, come rain or shine, and the assistants will help you, or leave you alone when you say "thanks, but I'm fine."

Here I find Niffennegger, Kushner, and Bujold. I rediscover Orson Scott Card (you closet homosexual, you). Lemony Snicket's Series of Unfortunate Events turns up one day, and I finally read my favorite childhood movie, Peter S. Beagle's The Last Unicorn, discovering that yes, it was actually a good story. I rediscover who I want to be through reading. Let me brave, kind, considerate. But most importantly, here, in this world of books, I can seek tranquility, a sense of peace in a chaotic world. I can leave Baltimore behind, I can escape the problems of America, and visit imaginary memories and worlds no less real than mine.