Please, Take Notice:
"I am a storyteller. The type that went from place to place, gathered people in the square and transported them, inspired them, woke them up, shook their insides around so that they could resettle in a new pattern, a new way of being." - Donna Jacobs Sife
Charlotte continued her process for the remainder of the day, her lack of patrons allowing for a more thorough compilation of sepia-toned photographs, wilting birth certificates, and even a crackling, digital copy of a radio program from the 80's when Booth's cousin on his mother's side unsuccessfully ran for mayor.
She had taken a 45-minute lunch break, more to rest her aching hands and straining eyes that to appease a wailing stomach. She ate her crumbly ham sandwich and two mealy apples alone in the dimly lit breakroom. There were only a handful of librarians around her age, and even that would not have made much of a difference: Charlotte was cooped up in her little world of the antique, historical, and fraying. There was Marci over in the Young Adult and Teen section, looking spunky and connected to her inner teen, her lip piercing and koi tattoo always a conversation starter with the students who came for after school programs and a safe place to hang. Marcus was part of the General Research branch, rarely making human contact and generating results seemingly out of thin air. Charlotte had tried talking to him once, but he froze with his mouth as agape as the fish on Marci's neck. Charlotte finally showed mercy and waved him away, watching as he scuttled back to his cubicle.
The one chance for the young librarian to get a semblance of human contact outside of her designated work was after she had punched out for the day. Charlotte loitered in the Children's Reading Room, waiting for the local CPS bus to drop off the elementary students for their after school program. The line of students following Ms. Perkins looked like some macabre rendition of Miss Clavel and her little charges. When they saw Charlotte, a few broke rank. They did nothing to quiet the thudding of their strides.
One young girl in particular charged ahead, her braided weave jouncing back and forth and the beads making the distinct plastic clinking.
"Miss Charlotte!" Shaunte barreled into Charlotte, her face burrowing into the young woman's sweater. Charlotte had plenty of practice over her two years, learning how to brace herself against the unusually strong onslaught of the little girl she now held close. It was like catching a bouquet of Black Forest calla lilies.
"Hey sweetheart! How was your day?" Charlotte smiled down and her little charge beamed up, her pearly whites clear against a mocking mouth. Shaunte pulled out her trademark charm.
"Well!" Charlotte could see the actress in her ooze out from where it had been hiding during the school day. "These idiots wouldn't stop talking during silent study so they ruined everything for the rest of us." Her miniature hands motioned wildly, almost taking attention from her expressive face. "I told 'em to shut up but they kept talken-" here, Shaunte grabbed Charlotte's hand and led the little troupe to the cluster of bean-bag chairs, cushions, and a comfy, lumpy armchair that was seated low to the floor. "-and then Mr. Milton almost gave me a detention!" Charlotte made sure to look sufficiently horrified, knowing by now how to pull the little storyteller to the frontlines. Shaunte nodded in silent agreement, her eyes wide. "But I got 'em back at lunch, so…" Charlotte knew not to pressure, remembering the last time she asked what the then third-grader had done to one of her classmates in retaliation for a heinous slight.
It had been an inventive maneuver to be sure.
"The less I know, the better, sweetheart." Charlotte received a confirming huff.
The other children had already begun taking seats, and Charlotte had to separate two boys from their kerfuffle over the soccer ball-shaped bean-bag chair. They now sat at opposite ends of the semicircle. Charlotte settled down, fanning her skirt around her and carefully tucking her feet away from the small of Shaunte's back. She had taken up her standard seat, kitty-corner to the librarian. Tommy, a fifth-grader who had just recently gotten braces, yanked a slightly crumpled paperback from his drawstring bag and the novel slowly made its way to Charlotte's hands.
Although Ms. Perkins was the official Children's Librarian on staff, her lack of skill for storytelling was legendary. The students had eventually learned that if they wanted any entertainment they would have to find a replacement. And it had been Shaunte who, without any shame or reserve, had stalked up to Charlotte and demanded a story. On that wintry day two years ago, Charlotte had been making her reluctant way out the door after her shift. But when faced with begging eyes, her heart melted and from that day forward had become the unofficial storybook reader to the group of students.
Today, the book was Bridge to Terabithia, and Charlotte hoped that she would not read too much. It wouldn't be best for her to bawl like a baby in front of the kids.
"Chapter One," Charlotte began. Young heads leaned forward, the little bodies propped up by arms lying atop crossed legs. "It's titled 'Jesse Oliver Aarons, Jr.' and it goes like this." And so Charlotte dove into the world of ten-year-old Jesse and his friend Leslie and the adventures they had together. This particular copy had nice black-and-white illustrations, and Charlotte made sure to hold the book open wide enough for everyone to see them properly. She found a stopping point at the end of Chapter Two, as parents were beginning to sidle in and pull their children away.
"When he came out later with the pail and stool," Charlotte concluded heavily, "she was gone." Charlotte marked the page with a tissue from her bag and handed it back to Tommy, whose aunt had just arrived in her supermarket uniform to take him home. "Thanks so much for letting us borrow the book for read-aloud," Charlotte said with a smile. Tommy beamed at her as he hastily stuffed the book back into his bag, nearly tripping over the reading rug as he tried to continue to walk backward in the process. Charlotte chuckled, waving as they left. Slowly rising from her seat, the young woman's back cracked, and she rubbed it soothingly as she gave Shaunte one last hug before the young girl ran over to her father.
Bending for her bag, she noticed Rob Kelley, the head of Human Resources, lingering and trying to catch her attention. Wondering what he needed, Charlotte made her way over. Mr. Kelley was clutching a manilla folder, looking slightly nervous, and Charlotte wondered if he had been waiting for her to finish her storytelling. When she asked him this, he looked contrite.
"Yeah, wanted to let ya read to the kids before I caught ya." He jabbed a thumb to the administrative offices across the room. "Can I have a minute to talk?" His voice crackled a bit, having just recently gotten over a bitter cold and stuffy nose.
"Yeah, sure, of course," Charlotte stumbled a bit for the right word. She wasn't quite sure what Mr. Kelley needed to talk about, as just last month she had sat down with him as he conducted his annual breakdown of her pay and benefits. Entering his little office, she smiled slightly at the framed photo of him and his son at a Cubs game, their smiles wide as their backs faced Wrigley Field's diamond. Mr. Kelley's college baseball glove was propped up on a shelf behind him, and a blue and orange pennant from the University of Illinois was tacked to the wall.
Taking a seat in the cushioned chair, Charlotte smoothed out her skirt. A nervous habit to be sure, one she had picked up from her mother.
Mr. Kelley cleared his throat, though Charlotte wasn't sure if it was to clear his airways or to steel himself for conversation. "Sorry to make you stay so much longer, but this just couldn't wait. And like I said, I wanted to you to get to read to the kids first." Mr. Kelley had also taken a seat, and patted the folder on his desk as if to assure himself that it was still in existence. His twitchy body language did nothing to calm Charlotte. She began picking at her thumbnail. "I'm really not sure how to begin, Charlotte. This isn't really the conversation I wanted to have with you, but our board of directors wasn't giving me a choice and the archives are just not on the top of the branch's priorities right now." He trailed off again, and Charlotte stopped breathing. She felt cold all of a sudden, despite hearing the heating kick on.
"I'm still a little confused, Mr. Kelley," Charlotte all but whispered. Perhaps she was just misreading his cues?
But the repentant look he gave her told her all she needed. He mumbled and fumbled, tremblingly taking a pink slip out of the folder and sliding it over to her. "We haven't been getting the funding we need, and they wanted me to cut back. I tried to see if maybe just a few hours here and there would work, but it just wasn't enough. They picked four people, and well," he licked his lips in an attempt to garner more courage. "Like I said, we haven't been seeing a whole lot of interest in the archives lately. Even our research programs and events don't draw enough of a crowd."
Charlotte looked down at the paper. Notice of Termination of Employment. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried adjusting her glasses, hoping it was some trick of the light. The buzzing in her ears was too loud to be the heating system.
"You have two weeks from today," Mr. Kelley stuttered and then finally cracked. "I'm so sorry Charlotte, but there was nothing I could do."
She needed a drink. Her throat felt like it was closing up. Picking up the paper with trembling hands, Charlotte stuffed it into her bag as if it burned. "Thank you for telling me in person, Mr. Kelley," she croaked. "That means a lot, really."
Charlotte stood abruptly. She needed to get out and go home, scream into her pillow. Instead she bit her tongue and sent a watery smile toward the man. He muttered something about it being protocol, "but of course anything for you, Charlotte." She didn't catch anything else. Grabbing her bag she all but stumbled from the office. Dazed, she made her way to the exit. Although, her eyes still caught details as if hyperaware. There was the dark stain on the carpeting near the door, where Marci had dropped her latte the other morning while trying to make her way indoors from the rain. There was a chip in the wood of the door where a young boy had tossed his phone in a screaming rage three months ago. Passing through the atrium, she barely remembered to wave to Charlie. But she certainly noticed his look of worry, the way his sparse and wiry eyebrows curled every which way.
Charlotte was unaware her whole commute back to her studio apartment. Her entire willpower was being used to keep her from letting loose the heart-wrenching sobs that were clawing their way up her esophagus. Every jostle from a fellow commuter felt like a stab of agony. It wasn't until she made it up the creaky stairway and collapsed on her futon that she let go, her dinner of leftovers completely forgotten.
She cried over the situation. She cried out of fear. She cried because she was crying.
Then, exhausted, she fell asleep.