Sunday, November 17, 2024

Why Are You Here?

the little girl asks me. She's a regular at the library where I work, but that branch is closed for renovations, and now I'm at the main branch and feeling out of place and a smidge useless at the moment. Why AM I here? 

Because the other library is closed, says the little girl's mother. 

Why? says the little girl. 

Because they need to fix it.

Why?

Because it's broken. 

Why?

I used to have my own three-year-olds, so I know this can go on all day. I give the little girl a sticker. It's a bear wearing sunglasses. Why? the little girl asks me, and I want to say, I don't know. I don't know about anything anymore. We are living in strange times, where one moment you're feeling hope-y and change-y, and the next, you're googling How to Live under an Authoritarian Regime (Don't submit in advance) or scrolling around on Zillow searching for houses for sale in Blue States (Vermont looks nice). 

Instead, I say, Because he's a silly bear. 

Which seems to satisfy her because she goes off to play at the train table, and I head over to the story time area to sign in patrons for Baby Tummy Time. We didn't have this program at my old branch, and I am curious. Picture a circle of baby-sized yoga mats. Picture me flopping onto one of them. 

Okay, I would never do that, but the thought pings in my head. The world leaking in again. The weather. What one of my co-workers calls Wuthering Heights weather. Think gray. Think cold. Think emotionally immature vengeful lovers bellowing for each other across the moors.

The babies and their caregivers gather, and I try to sign them in, but the sign-in software doesn't make sense to me, and I resort to scribbling numbers on a post-it note. 22. Why would anyone want to have a baby right now? These babies, though. I wish you could see them. 

Some are so teeny tiny that when their grown-ups set them on the yoga mats, they immediately curl up like little pillbugs. An older baby rolls off her mat and keeps rolling across the carpet. The babies nurse. The babies cry. The babies sleep. One of the little pillbugs wakes up and lifts his head to look around. What does he make of this place? 

And what's with the old library lady cooing and sing-songing "Hello! Aren't you a cutie!" into his little face? Tummy-time's over and I'm back at the desk, the three-year-old patron at the train table, taking notice, skipping over sporting her sticker. 

You're here! she says. 

I nod and smile. I'm here. 







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