From the Stars, to the Stars

From the Stars, to the Stars: Chapter Twelve

The arm of my swivel chair sits at exactly the wrong height; no matter how much I tuck in or extend my legs, how I angle my butt, my feet keep punching through the gap between it and the seat.

I've retreated back to the emotional safety of the library out of habit, now that Gracie's condition has stabilized. Even after years of trying to build up some endurance, I don't last long in hospital rooms.

I wiggle my hips so that they wedge between the chair back and seat, causing myself to spin a quarter turn back and forth like a kid on a Roller Racer.

"You know, twenty or more minutes in that chair is legally considered a crime against humanity by most first world—maybe even second—countries," Aunt Rin warns, grabbing a stack of returns from the reshelf bookcase near the book drop slot. "You better sit up soon, or you'll be shaped like a bobby pin for the rest of your life."

"I ascribe to the teachings of Zen Master Pu Fei, which state whenever a situation arises in which one is given the opportunity to curl up into a ball and nap, one accepts it."

"Pu Fei isn't a Zen Master, Joss. He's a ten-year-old feline-shaped demon who could sleep unscathed in an incinerator if I let him. Now bedonk ya donk and fetch Eddie; I sense a disturbance in The Force." Rin nods toward the glass doors, through which I see a life-sized Yoda clutching to his chest a ragged, dog-eared book.

Toby, so much a library regular we all chipped in to buy an old recliner for his "reading corner," reaches the desk and shamefully slides the book along the top toward Rin. The counter is so high, and the boy so small, all Rin and I can see are Toby's red-rimmed little eyes and the quivery tips of his green flannel Jedi ears."

"I did it again, Miss Rin," Toby says in a snuffly voice.

Rin, no Amazonian herself, stands on tiptoe so she can see boy and book at the same time across the desk top. "What's the damage this time, Tobes? Animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

Toby, eyes still watering, takes a second to consider. "I'm not sure," he admits. "How does bath water count?"

I have to hand it to my aunt for not snorting in laughter at this point, but poor Toby is so obviously stricken by his own book abuse, and Rin is a stone-cold professional librarian.

"Hmmm," she hums. "Let's think. Minerals were in the dirt you scrubbed off, and animal proteins in your dead skin cells that came free with the dirt, and a whole plethora of microbial veggies probably already swimming around in all that H2O. I think we have to go with 'Injury by Little Boy Stew".

Despite himself, Toby grins.

"Anyway, you done good, kid. Looks like you got it dry before too much of the binding glue swirled down the drain. A bit of industrial ingenuity and Wesley'll be rocking that mask again before you can say "Dread Pirate Roberts".

Rin gently shuts/folds the book in half, giving a little wiggle, and watches to make sure the pages fall back together more or less in line as she circles around to Toby. "Nevermind about Eddie, Joss. Toby can come to the back with me, and we'll take care of it ourselves. You get the lady over by Fiction with "Lost" invisibly tattooed on her forehead."

"Lost" lady's been hovering between Bu and Ca for about ten minutes, clearly not finding what she wants.

"Excuse me. Ma'am," I say, ducking forward a bit so I'm in her line of sight, but not like a ghost popping up out of nowhere (you'd be shocked how many patrons are too in their own little worlds to notice anyone coming near them).

She turns, removing her index finger from her lips, and smiles smoothly. "Did it go well with the boy and his book?" she asks.

I blank, already having shifted gears. "Huh? Oh, Toby? Yeah. Rin's repaired that thing at least a half dozen times already. She's probably got at least another three or four fixes up her sleeves before it dies for good." I glance meaningfully at the shelves beside us. "But is there something I can help you find?"