Page 4 of Librarian for the Jock
Chapter Four
CHET
With grocery shopping and my other small errands done, I decided to do some exploring so I could reacquaint myself with Hawthorn Hideaway. Naturally, I headed straight for the library, my favorite place to escape to as a child, and a sanctuary for Baba and my mom as well. Libraries have always been the perfect place to take me away from the craziness of life, so quiet, and cool, and tranquil.
People always thought that just because I was a “jock,” I was some kind of idiot. But, I was raised by book-loving, knowledge-hungry women. They taught me the great value of lifelong learning and I always carry a book around with me. And, yes, if you’re wondering, most of my teammates would tease me about what new book I was reading, at least in public. But in private, many players and coaches would come talk to me about the subjects of the books and share their thoughts and opinions.
I started up the library steps, chuckling as a tiny girl in pigtails bounced down the steps with her mom shouting, “‘Chicka chicka, chicka chicka, chicka chicka, poo poo!”
Her mom laughed, then suddenly turned back to look at me. “Welcome home, Chet!”
She looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember her name. I nodded politely, “Thank you. It’s great to be back.”
“Brad will be super excited you’re back. I know he will track you down soon. Don’t feel pressured to answer all of his fantasy football questions. Glad I was able to warn you before he found you.”
She laughed and flipped her hand to say goodbye. Brad’s wife. Now I remembered seeing a picture of their wedding online. Is that his kid! Woah, we are getting old! It feels like it was just yesterday when we played tackle football at the park. Now he’s a dad. I grinned. I have so many great memories with that guy.
As I stepped through the big wooden double doors of our small town library, a rush of memories flooded my mind. The musty scent of old books and the gentle hum of whispered conversations transported me back to a simpler time, back to the days when my Baba used to bring me here. I wondered if the librarian, Ms. Smith, would remember me.
I remembered those afternoons with Baba like they were yesterday. Our weekly visit to this cozy haven of knowledge was something I always looked forward to. I got to choose up to 10 books to take home that week to read and they were always my choice. Baba never made me read a book that she wanted me to read. She would only suggest books. Her suggestions were always the best.
Baba, her silver hair neatly tucked into a little bun, would lead me through the aisles, her gentle voice whispering hints of tales of adventure and wonder. The echo of her laughter still resonated in my mind, fueling my imagination as much as the stories themselves.
Suddenly, I realized that I was just standing in the doorway and hadn’t actually taken a step inside yet, which meant that I was completely blocking the entrance. When I came to, I moved sheepishly into the library. My eyes found the circulation desk. I smiled, expecting to see my favorite Hawthorn Hideaway librarian, Ms Smith, with her warm smile and wire frame glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
Instead, my eyes focused on a petite, pretty woman whose brown hair was tossed up in a neat bun on her head. I couldn't help but do a double-take. Was she the librarian now? Her bun hinted at a meticulous personality, someone who preferred order and neatness. It also insinuated a no-nonsense attitude.
I guessed she was in her 30s, just a tad bit older than me. She exuded a quiet confidence that piqued my curiosity. She had the librarian chic down to an art form, possessing an understated elegance that made her stand out in the cozy setting. Her sweet smile totally caught me off guard.
Her glasses were perched precariously on the end of her nose and her brown eyes sparkled with intelligence and kindness. Her tiny frame, about a foot shorter than mine, probably 5'3", added to her charm, making her appear delicate, yet determined. She carried herself with a quiet confidence, belying the strength within. My smile grew as I realized she was the fun-sized guardian of literature.
When our eyes met, we both looked embarrassed, and I suddenly felt like a self-conscious middle-schooler. I stood there staring, probably a few seconds longer than I should have, and then I finally looked away.
Where was Ms. Smith? Who was going to answer my endless questions and satisfy my curiosities? I could almost hear Ms. Smith’s soft voice, recommending books and offering insights that only a librarian with years of experience could possess. And she could find the answer to anything! Was I supposed to ask her ? My mind was suddenly blank and I quickly did a side step, grateful for my football skills, into the children’s section of the library.
As I wandered through the familiar shelves, I tried to shake off the uneasiness of finding a different, albeit very beautiful, young librarian, in my library. Had I ever seen a young librarian before? Obviously all librarians were young once, but where they work when they’re young, I have no idea, because I’d never seen one before.
As my thoughts raced, I traced my fingers along the spines of the books that once ignited my passion for stories. So many of the titles have been a chapter in the tale of my childhood, and the memories flooded back like a highlight reel of my past. My thoughts went back to sharing quiet moments here with Baba and my racing heart calmed down at the thought of Baba and those moments. I gently touched the picture books that transported me to far-off lands and the adventure novels that fueled my dreams of glory.
As I strolled through the aisles, I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony. The library felt smaller than I remembered. The shelves used to tower over me like defensive linemen. I half-expected Baba to pop out and scold me for not appreciating the classics as well as the fun books. She'd always say, "Books are your friends, honey. Touchdowns fade away, but knowledge lasts forever."
I found the corner where Baba and I used to huddle, surrounded by the all knowing encyclopedias and the occasional mystery novel. She'd read to me in her sweet, gentle voice and I would soak up every word, her voice making even the most boring stories sound like epic adventures. I chuckled again at the memory of her animated storytelling. She'd turn the most mundane tales into gripping sagas, complete with sound effects and character voices. I swear, she could've given Shakespeare a run for his money. I miss my grandmother so much, and yet at the same time I feel so close to her here.
The football field may have been where I showcased my physical prowess, but the library is where my love for the game of life was born. I owed it to those afternoons spent here in the company of Baba and the literary treasures that surrounded us. I stood there, a big-time football player in a small town library, and I realized that my journey had come full circle. The stories that shaped my youth still lingered in the air here, whispering promises of endless possibilities.
As I picked up a book, I felt the librarian’s eyes on me. She was probably wondering why a big guy like me was in the children’s section. I grinned, imagining the headlines: "Football Star Discovers the Joys of Go Dog Go !"
This one little book captures so many good feelings and memories for me. Go Dog Go, the first book I could read all the way through by myself, began the formation of this football bookworm.
Baba’s voice echoed in my head, "Knowledge is power, kiddo."
Yes, Baba, you are absolutely right! What I learned in books also helped me on the field as I led my winning team. Who would've thought that the same guy who bulldozed through opponents on the field once sought refuge among the quiet shelves of a small-town library? Life has a way of surprising us all I suppose.
I regain some of my confidence and peek out between books on the tall shelf in front of me to check out the new librarian again. I watch her full lips curve into a friendly smile as she assists a patron with a book inquiry. There’s an undeniable charm to her, an air of approachability, an unspoken invitation to explore the literary wonders under her care.
Despite her small stature, she has a presence that makes me think twice about cracking a joke about library fines. The juxtaposition of her subtle curves with her professional demeanor, creates an intriguing contrast that draws the eye. My eye.
A soft voice from behind startles me. “Is my sweet Chet Bennett really back?”
Embarrassed, I turn to see Ms. Smith standing behind me and I feel my face light up with sheer joy. I embrace her thin frame, whispering, “I felt a little lost when I didn’t see you at the circulation desk.”
“I retired years ago, dear, but I do come in often to help with the shelving to keep myself busy. Paige took over and she is a beautiful one, isn’t she?” she asked, winking at me.
I was caught. I grinned sheepishly and didn’t answer her question. “Beautiful or not, she’ll never reach the bar you set, Ms. Smith.”
“I don’t know about that, Chet. Looks like she got your attention quicker than I ever could. Happy to see you are still reading!” She chuckled and went back to her shelving.
I turned back to look again at the new librarian. Paige, her name is Paige. Was I really staring at a woman from behind a bookshelf like a lovesick teenager?
When I approached the counter to check out the books I’d finally chosen, our eyes briefly met again. Her gaze captivated me. No words escaped my mouth. I wondered about the stories hidden behind those deep, brown eyes. There was so much more to her than I could read at first glance. I quickly whispered a “thank you” after she checked me out, but otherwise we didn’t speak, and I left the counter with my books. The library had suddenly become an even more intriguing place with her at the helm.
After our encounter I wasn’t ready to go home, so I took a seat in the adult section, making an attempt to read one of my books while sneaking glances at her. This was going to be interesting.