Scene Of My Crime

20 or so years ago I used to go to the library to do my research.

The computers were limited in what they could do ( but did anyone notice? ) and the screen was dark gray and the letters were orange. I used to sit there with my notebook and look for books and articles that I found in the indexes of other books.

One evening the going was slow- it was cold outside and both of my sons were sick and I had left the dinner making to my husband- who had a lot of talents but making dinner wasn’t one of them.

I realized what time it was and gathered up what I had and rushed up to the check out counter. I guess I had lost track of time because the library was closing.

The librarian was not happy as she began to check each of my dozen books out.

She mentioned the need to flash the light more so that the patrons would realize they were about to close. Then she wondered if they need to post the hours on little cards at the tables and computer stands because so many people seemed to be unaware of the library hours.

She looked at my stacked of books- they were about embalming and funeral practices, there were some about cannibalism and cemetery art. There were some about head hunters  and forensics too.

She looked at me and pursed her lips to keep from vomiting, I guess.

That look got my back up.

Five seconds ago she was the busiest librarian in the universe but she had all the time in the world to make faces over my reading material.

” I’m writing a book ” I offered.

” Oh. And what kind of book are  you writing. ” She said clearly NOT wanting to know.

” A cookbook.”

She took a little bookmark with the library hours on them from a pile and put one into the top book and snapped the cover shut.

She didn’t say to have a nice evening and she didn’t say she hoped I enjoyed my books and that  she hoped she’d see me soon.

That was okay, because I always seemed to end up in her line with a stack of book five minutes to closing.

Daily Addiction Prompt: Forensic