The library was around fifteen miles away. From my seat on the bus, I saw on the seat across from me a missing person sign. The man in it was middle-aged and unshaven. Next to his picture was that of a little girl, aged about 10 or so. I couldn't read the names but I reflected on how society was going downhill. Hmmf! Like I was one to talk. I spent my life protecting a pocket watch my grandfather had given me only to lose it down a drain some rainy afternoon. I saw it in the gutter edging toward the grate and just kept walking. I suppose it's that disrespect for our elders that is ruining the world. But who cares?
My thoughts again traveled to the pocket watch as I approached the library. After all, it had been that watch that led me here. I never would have gone to the police if I hadn't lost it. I never would have talked to that police captain about the strange things she'd seen, and I never would have followed that trail to the dry cleaner's, The Newspaper, and The Weasel. Speaking of which, I've got to go visit him once I'm done here.
"Are you a friend of the library?" the young lady behind the counter asked. I answered no, and she returned, "Then I'm afraid the originals are off limits. You can look at the copies, though, if you like!" She had enthusiasm. I hate enthusiasm. It makes my skin crawl the amount of effort some people give to do nothing. "Copies, eh? I suppose it might be nice to at least look at what I'll be stealing," I thought. I headed over to the viewers and found the one that could show me newspapers from before 1965. The Gallup Gazette was what I needed to find, their issue for May 4, 1961. I turned the dials quickly and slowed around 1962 for a better look. What luck! There it was! Right where she said it would be. Now, all I need to do is find the original. The index had the original listed as recovered by the library. What a newspaper from New Mexico was doing there I'll never know. I knew that I needed to have it. I believed that with a little luck, I could get out of there without too much of a fuss.
The next woman I saw was an older lady, with gray hair, wearing one of those shawls that the grandmothers on TV wear. I told her I was from the National Archives, and was under direct orders to bring that issue of the paper to the President of the United States right away. She was skeptical, as I knew she would be, so I flashed her my bus pass and told her that time was of the essence. I said that it was a matter of national security, a matter of life and death! She didn't buy it. So I faked some honesty.
"My son came to me yesterday with tears in his eyes," I lied. "He told me that everyone was bringing in amazing Show-and-Tell projects and that he'd have nothing to bring." I ended with a plea, "So please, for my son, can I borrow that paper for just one day?" To seal the deal, I offered to let her keep my gold wristwatch until I brought it back. $20 piece of junk that ran three minutes slow; I was glad to be free of it.
She took me back and spoke to me along the way. "You know, you're lucky to have come here now. That newspaper was just donated by a nice young man named James Stanek two days ago." I was intrigued. Certainly he must have known of its properties.
"Is that so?" I asked.
"Yep. He said he didn't need it anymore. What an odd thing to say."
If only she had known.