Children’s Literacy Assistant: Saturdays. Mel definitely didn’t have anything better to do on Saturdays. Open to students aged 12 to 16. Check. Applicants should have a basic understanding with regards to how the library is set up. Double check. Enjoy reading. Triple check. Applications must be dropped off at the Circulation Desk. No problem. Remuneration is at eight dollars and fifty cents per hour. Quadruple check. Should funding be available in the fall, this position may be extended until December 31. “Yes!” Mel said, and then she quickly looked around, realizing she’d spoken that yes out loud.
—
Perhaps the four-leaf clovers had been a sign. If Cecily were here, Cecily would have bought lottery tickets. There would have been vacation plans. Mel would have gone to the nearest library and learned the capitals of all the countries they’d visit, and they would have made lists of words and whole sentences in Spanish, French, or Italian.
Cecily would let the potential of winning linger, waiting for at least a week after the draw. The possibility that they would win only increased with each day they waited. As Mel grew older, she leaned on that possibility more and more until finally, she didn’t want Cecily to buy lottery tickets. Because when Cecily did eventually check the ticket, and it wasn’t a winner, she would spiral down, and Mel would be left trying to lift them both back up. Lottery lists always ended this way.
“But this is different,” Mel said out loud as she walked toward Gladys’s apartment. “This is real, and I’ve got a real chance at getting this job.”
“There’s a job for a student at the library,” Mel said as she walked into the kitchen.
Gladys said nothing.
“The librarian said I should apply for it; she gave me the forms,” Mel added.
“Well, I wouldn’t be expecting that mother of yours to be hanging around just because you’ve got a decent job. You’ll probably just get started and then not be showing up.” Gladys’s eyes never left the TV.
“If I get the job,” Mel said, and then paused. “I’ll give you back the money for the things Cecily took.” She hadn’t planned to say that; it just came out.
“Well, from what I can see, you’ve got nothing but a bunch of rags for clothes.” Gladys paused briefly and then continued. “You can’t be expecting a person to hire someone who looks like they just crawled off the street.”
Mel turned and walked back into the living room and sat on the couch. The truth was that she didn’t need Gladys’s permission.
18
Paul
“I can apply for the job,” she told Marilyn the next day at the library.
“Wonderful. Believe me, it would be a good job for you. Here’s an application form. Fill it out as best you can and bring it back in.”
“Thanks,” Mel said as she began to read the application. Then, looking back up, she smiled at Marilyn. “Thanks a lot.”
Mel walked in the direction of her usual table, the words believe me repeated themselves over and over in her thoughts. They were words she didn’t have a lot of faith in, but she’d try. She turned her attention again to the application form.
Looking down as she approached the table, she didn’t notice Paul already sitting in one of the chairs.
“Hey,” he said.
“Oh … I didn’t see you.” The words stumbled out of Mel’s mouth.
Paul laughed. “Perfect. I was hoping to be invisible.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I can see you. I just didn’t see you … because I was reading.”
“Yeah, I know. I saw you coming. I’m just trying to look like I’m studying or my mom will have me shelving books for the rest of the afternoon.”
Mel smiled.
“So, do you come here every day?” Paul asked.
“Uh, well, I’m staying with my grandmother for a month or so.”
“Ah, summer vacation – me too. Well, I guess, if you can call this a summer vacation.” Paul looked around the library, obviously unimpressed. “Do you want to play a game of chess?”
“Sure,” Mel answered. She hadn’t played since fourth grade when Mr. Russell, her teacher, taught the whole class.
Paul closed his books and hurried off toward the circulation desk. “I’ll be right back.”
Mel watched as Marilyn handed him the chess set. She purposely looked out the window as Paul turned, chessboard under his arm, and walked toward her. Mel could see that people were starting to congregate around the soup kitchen door.
Paul picked up both queens, one in each hand, placed them behind his back, and then asked, “Left or right?”
“Left,” Mel answered.
Pulling his hands from behind his back, palms open, Paul smiled and said, “Queen gets her color.”
He reached across the table and set the white queen in front of her. It soon became obvious that Paul had played his fair share of chess. Hours passed like minutes, and neither of them spoke of anything unrelated to the game.
They didn’t move when the loudspeaker came on: “Attention, patrons: The library will be closing in twenty minutes. Attention, patrons …”
“Paul, we’ve got to go.” Marilyn said, interrupting the announcement. Both Mel and Paul looked up at her. “Do you need a lift home, Mel?”
“No, I’m good,” Mel said as she got up to leave.
“Is this yours?” Paul asked, handing her the folded sheet he’d found under the chessboard.
“Are you sure you don’t need a ride?” Marilyn asked again before Mel had a chance to answer Paul.
“Yes, I mean no … I mean … yes, that is my paper, and no, I’ll take the bus. It stops about a block from my grandmother’s.”
“Thanks for the games,” Paul said as he folded up the board and put it back in the box.
“Yeah, you too,” Mel said as she handed the lid to Paul.
She should have left at the first closing call; the last bus that stopped near Frohberger’s had left twenty minutes ago. But if she ran the first four blocks to Third Street, she’d be able to catch the 41 South bus. She’d have to walk a few extra blocks to get to Gladys’s, but it would save her having to answer a thousand questions if Gladys somehow saw her getting out of a vehicle.
19
Mel’s Letter
That night after Gladys went to bed, Mel pulled the greeting card she’d bought at Frohberger’s out of the plastic wrapping and began to write.
Dear Cecily.
Then, carefully erasing the word Cecily, she wrote Mom.
Thanks for writing. Everything is good here, and Gladys and I are getting along just fine.
It wasn’t the truth, but Mel knew she wasn’t going to write about the scene in the kitchen, or about being lonely. Nor was she going to write about the whole thing with the key.
The library is great. I’ve been going almost every day.
She didn’t mention Paul. Nor did she tell Cecily about the job possibility. It was better to wait until the job was hers.
I can’t wait until you’re out.
Then she erased the word out and replaced it with back.
Then we can find our own place. Only nineteen more days! I’ve been looking through the papers at the library, and there are lots and lots of places for rent.
Mel decided to tell Cecily about Fearless.
There’s a kitten. He sleeps in the soup kitchen during the day. He’s adorable! He needs a home. Maybe he could live with us. I love you and I miss you … like the flowers need the rain … Mel.
To the bottom of the card she added a P.S.
I bought this card from Frohberger’s. Mr. Frohberger still runs the store.
Mel wanted to write that he remembered her, from when Mel was little, but she didn’t. She hoped Cecily was still planning to apologize.
But right now, another truth was forming in Mel’s mind. She knew she wouldn’t have been at the table earlier in the day, with a library card, playing chess with Paul if Cecily hadn’t been caught shoplifting. And today was a day she k
new she’d treasure for a long time. The pendulum of Cecily Tulley, on which Mel spent her entire life, was swinging her from one extreme to another, yet again.
20
A Visit with Rose, Gus, and Fearless
Mel woke early the next morning and worked for hours on her application, answering all the questions as best she could. When she came to the part about references, she knew she could probably put Rose’s name down, but she didn’t have Rose’s phone number or address. She didn’t even know Rose’s last name, for that matter. She decided to go by the soup kitchen. It would also give her a chance to visit with Fearless; she’d been missing him.
Mel had no sooner walked through the back door of the soup kitchen than Fearless spotted her. He jumped off the windowsill and pranced directly to her. Mel lifted him up and he leaned into her chest, pushing his cool nose against her cheek – all the while purring.
“You know Fearless doesn’t give anybody but you that kind of love,” Rose said, as she walked toward Mel.
Mel didn’t respond. Instead she continued petting Fearless’s silky black coat.
“I’m glad you came by; we’ve been wondering about you – hoping everything was okay.” Rose glanced at Gus, who had come to join them.
“I’m good,” Mel told them. “My mom sent me a letter.” Mel didn’t know why, but she wanted Rose to know that Cecily had written her. “We’ll start looking for a place as soon as she’s back. Only seventeen days!”
“Well, that’s good,” Rose said as she gently lifted one of Mel’s curls off her forehead. “What happened here?”
“I fell,” Mel said flatly, knowing that her voice probably lacked a sense of the truth. She looked down at Rose’s bright pink canvas runners.
“Must have been quite a fall.”
“I have a library card,” Mel said, changing the subject. “I can check out fourteen books!”
“Well, I’d say that’s just what you need,” Rose said, giving a little wink. Then, with a more serious look, she glanced back at the bump on Mel’s forehead.
“Yeah,” Mel answered. She shook her hair back down over the bruise.
“So, what’s that paper you’re clinging to?” Rose asked.
“Well, I’m applying for a job at the library.”
“What? Are you running that place already?” Rose teased. “I’d say you’re a woman after my own heart.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Gus added. “Rose runs this kitchen like a ship’s captain. Got me workin’ my knuckles to the bone peeling potatoes and whatnot.”
“Speaking of which,” Rose shot back, “could you peel a bag of carrots also?”
“Workin’ me to the bone, Mel,” Gus repeated, feigning pain and agony. “Let me know if they need anyone else; shelving books would be a dream job compared to this chain gang.”
Mel laughed. “Okay, Gus,” she said. “I will.”
“So,” Rose asked, “what exactly is the job?”
“It’s just part-time, two hours a week,” Mel said, “reading stories to preschoolers and stuff like that.”
“Well, if you need a reference, you go right ahead and put my name down,” Rose said as she wiped her hands on her apron.
“Actually, I was hoping that would be okay,” Mel said and handed Rose the application form.
Rose wiped her hands once again on her apron before taking the sheet of paper from Mel. “I’d be honored to do this for you,” she said.
“How about you sit down and sample this soup for me while I fill out the form?”
“Sounds like a fair trade to me,” Mel joked.
Gus set a bowl and spoon in front of Mel and ladled out the thick colorful soup into her bowl.
Rose sat down on a stool and began filling out the form. Mel watched as Rose carefully wrote on each of the blanks. When Rose was done, she set the application form carefully on the counter and put her other hand on Mel’s shoulder. “This is a good opportunity for you, but I don’t doubt you’ve already figured that out.”
“I know,” Mel said. “Thanks.”
“You’re more than welcome. So tell me, what do you think about the soup?” Rose asked.
“It’s great! What kind of soup is it?”
Gus and Rose stood side by side, smiling at her, and answered in unison, “Mulligatawny!”
“Quite a name, isn’t it?” Gus added.
Mel left the soup kitchen and skipped to the library. Marilyn was at the desk when she walked in. Mel gave her the completed application form. Now came the hard part – waiting for an interview.
Rather than hang around the library, Mel decided to go back to the apartment. Gladys would be back from work by then, but Mel had plans to collect the empty bottles and cans that littered the tall grass around the back and sides of the building. Staying busy would keep her mind off the call for an interview, and she could turn the bottles and cans in for cash at Frohberger’s. Gladys gave her an old pair of rubber gloves and two garbage bags.
“I’m going to deduct the cost of those bags off my rent,” Gladys told her. “Years ago, when this building was owned by someone else, the property was something to be proud of – flower gardens, mowed lawn, trees pruned – but the new owners don’t …”
Mel walked away as Gladys rambled on.
She cleaned for most of the afternoon. One bag she filled with cans and bottles, another with trash. More than one of the other tenants from the building thanked her as she worked.
“By the way,” one guy said as he took a step toward her, “my name is Dave. So are you staying with your grandma now?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Mel replied. She recognized him as the guy from down the hall, the one who Cecily had told to shut up. She turned away, looking for more garbage.
“I feel bad for her and everything, stuck in this building with a bunch of college students. This is no place for an old lady.”
Mel threw the bag over her shoulder. The unexpected weight of it made her stumble.
Dave reached out to take the bag. “Here, let me help you,” he offered.
“It’s okay,” Mel answered. “I’ve got it.” With everything she could muster, she hoisted the bag into the dumpster.
She then picked up the other filled bag, the one with the bottles and cans, and she headed to Frohberger’s store. Altogether the recyclables were worth four dollars and twenty-five cents. Not much pay for an afternoon’s work, but it was better than nothing.
Gladys met Mel at the door when she returned to the apartment. “What did that hoodlum want with you?”
“Oh, he was just thanking me for cleaning up the yard.”
“You need to stay away from those boys. They’re nothing but trouble.”
“I will, Gladys,” Mel answered – not because she knew they were trouble, but because she knew Gladys would not be convinced otherwise.
21
The Alley
By the next morning, Mel still hadn’t heard back about an interview, and even though it was Gladys’s day off and she could hang around the apartment, she decided to go to the library and check to make sure she hadn’t missed the call.
It was startling to see police officers in the library. They were standing at the counter and speaking with Marilyn. Mel thought about her dream, the one she had in the car after fleeing from Craig’s, the one about Cecily and the police. Weeks later, it still gave her the shivers.
She surveyed the library, hoping to spot Paul. At almost the same time that she located him, he looked up and smiled at her. He closed the textbook he was reading as Mel approached his table.
“So, is that English homework?” she asked, looking down at the book.
It seemed a little odd that Paul would be reading an English text in the summer.
“Yeah – sort of, anyway – summer school.” There was nothing in the way Paul said the words summer school that gave any indication he enjoyed what he was doing.
“Summer school?” Mel lifted her eyebrows.
“Ah, well,
let’s just say that English is not my best subject.”
“You’d think that with your mom being a librar –”
“I know,” Paul interrupted. “But I suck at English. I’m doing this class for the second time. Anyway, whatever. I’ve got three weeks until I finish this course, and then I can go back to having a life again.”
“Oh, that’ll be good,” Mel said, but she was disappointed. Paul would not be sticking around the library once the course was finished.
“Maybe I can help,” she offered.
“Can you make sense of poetry?”
“Some.” It was a lie. She loved poetry.
“Okay, so what do you figure this means?” Paul opened his textbook and started to read the poem out loud.
Two or three words into the poem, Paul stopped reading and pushed the textbook in her direction. “You should probably just read this yourself.”
Mel turned the book so that it faced her, and set her hand on the page. She read the title, “Flying,” gave it a momentary thought, and then began reading the poem out loud.
“Okay. I guess I should have known,” Paul told her when she finished.
“Known what?”
“I should have known this would be a breeze for you.”
“Really?”
“Well, for one, you smiled the whole time you read that poem, and two, you do seem to check out more books than anyone else around here.”
“I’ve just always liked books.”
Paul laughed. “I can’t imagine ever liking books. I’ve always hated them. Well, not books, so much. I mean … whatever.”
“I think this poem is about what someone will do to follow their dreams, about overcoming a fear of looking silly or foolish,” Mel said, picking up the book and rereading the poem silently.
“You know what? I don’t need to hand this in until tomorrow,” Paul said.
“I don’t mind helping you with it.”
A Tinfoil Sky Page 8
