How To Live Forever.

The library sucks, it’s smaller than one story, has less than one hundred books, and doesn’t even have proper genre sections. The computer is ten years old, and half the books aren’t even programmed into the desktop. Most of the people who go to the library have read the books sevenfold, and they’ve probably lost their cards by now. The audiotapes are in a cardboard box that’s seaming at the sides, and the best ones are always at the bottom.

The librarians don’t like it when you dump the box on the floor.

‘Can you not just dig through?’

‘Its actually really hard.’

‘Its not, kids just don’t try anymore.’

She’s eighty-seven and doesn’t have reading classes, she can’t see your face clearly, and has an insane trouble trying to read the titles of most books. It an honorary thing. When you sign out a book, one of the three librarians must read the title out as loud as they can, and whoever is around, will comment on it.

‘Needed tissues for that sucker.’

‘Stuuuupid. Don’t waste your time.’

‘Oh, Lord.’

Its trouble, being in there, the bookshelves will fall if you place more weight than necessary on them- no more than twelve books on each shelf. You cannot, for the sake of your life, take a book from the farthest right shelf and put them on the closest left shelf. You just don’t do that, for – as I’ve said – your life and the life of bookshelves, risk it. It’s not ever worth the consequences.

Did it when I was twelve; I wasn’t allowed back in there for three months.

‘Francieee! What did I tell you? Always give the books back to mommy. Always. What do you do with your books?’

‘Give them back to mommy.’

‘Again.’

‘Give them back to mommy.’

‘All right. Good. What happens when you don’t?’

‘The bookshelf breaks.’

‘What happens?’

‘The book shelf breaks.’

I have never, since then, put a book where it doesn’t belong. At school, I always memorize the spines of books, so I can put it exactly where it belongs. At much more high tech libraries I memorize the spines and I place it back accordingly, never mind putting them on their desired book trays.

Last week, I went to the library for the first time since summer break started. The building was the same bleak brown blocks that I had been when I was five. The books were just as rusty and had just as much, maybe more, book tape in them than before. The audiotape box was altogether duck-taped. All silver and no brown. This time, though, I didn’t dump the contents on the carpet, instead I reach my hand in as far as I could and pulled one out.

Didn’t look at it, placed it beside me, and then reach my hand right back into the box, this time I didn’t pick off the bottom, pulled it out, it went beside me. And I repeated this process five times. For the cat’s sake, I looked at the titles: ABCs, How to Live Forever in Easy Steps, Great New Hampshire Dining, Self Esteem – An Insiders Look, and Curious George.

None of them sounded promising. I placed all the tapes title down, and shifted them around, closed my eyes, and repeated the shifting. Three more times, until I had it so I didn’t know. I picked a tape up. Curious George. All right, I put that on the pile of books I’m signing out, and I picked another. How To Live Forever. Not promising, a health nut audio, but the rules of picking were clear: do not double dip. Do not put the tape back.

Before the cranky librarian could scald my scalp, I put all the cassettes back in the box and placed it beside the farthest right bookcase.

I walked through the five bookshelves to the front desk. Across from it was the child’s section. With dainty, rickety chairs, no one even stepped foot in there. The books were old and they were worn, and there was only about ten of them left that could be read. Posters on the walls were old as Moses, with kids wearing baggy, bright clothing. Newspaper articles yellow from age.

It was nice being in there, like going to a cabin that hasn’t been used for over one hundred years; history just unfolds in front of your eyes. The cranky librarian was there. Improvement: glasses. They were big, and round. They fit her face, though.

“Francine! I haven’t seen you in… my, in at least a few months,” she took the books from my first, squinted real hard, “I can’t read this. The writing is too small,” the next book she picks up is the same deal, and the same with the other. She doesn’t even try to read the cassette tapes.

“It has been a while,” I say once she’s all done. Never talk to her when she’s trying to read, or when she’s checking out things. She won’t remember it after its all said and done. Its better to not waste your breath and to just say something afterwards. The whole checking out period is also lost on her, she doesn’t remember anything that wasn’t done with her full concentration or if its logged into a computer.

“It has, I haven’t seen your mother in an age and a half! How is she doing?” She packs the books in a plastic bag, and then puts the cassettes in.

“She’s alright. Been working a lot,” I reach over the counter and grab my bag and the card.

“Oh yes. At Sukapi Waters?”

“Oh, no. That closed a year ago. It’s owned by some big company. She’s working on computers.”

“How sensible!”

I smiled and I left. The doors cranking and creaking as I open them, and as they fall behind me. It had started to rain while I was picking cassettes, and the potholes were like mini swimming pools.

But I don’t drive. I take the legs down to my own street. The plastic bag rubs against my bar leg and I could feel the skin chaffing. By the time I would get home, it would be bleeding. The edge of one of my hard covers had poked through ands stabbed me a few times.

I’m not as excited as I normally am when I get books. In fact, I don’t even think I’ll read them. I don’t even know if I’ll take them out of their plastic bag home. Maybe I’d listen to the Curious George one. It’s been a decade – hyperbole – since I’ve read anything about the monkey.

Not even the book about the Rwandan Genocide. It was the same book I had picked up in grade nine in the school library, but had put it back because there were more than ten words I hadn’t understood. This book was the library’s first step at becoming modern. It had only been written three years ago. This was new.

But I would never even crack the spine. In fact, I wouldn’t even look at it, or think about it. The only time I realized I even had it was when I was putting the cassettes back and feeling guilty about not even looking at the front cover.

I also wouldn’t even look at the other books. What a waste of time. The least I could have done was look at the torture book that ruined my mosquito-bite skin.

I don’t even remember what the title was. I don’t even remember what the book was about. Maybe it was also about monkeys. The motif of my first-in-three-months excursion to the library was monkeys. Maybe. Probably not, though.

When I get home, my socks were complete soaked. Even though I wasn’t walking around with no shoes and making a purpose of stepping in puddles, my shoes were still slushy, and my socks were still sloppy. My feet were starting to num, but at the same time, are extremely cold.

After I pried the cold socks off my feet and throw them into the washer, I put on a new pair of socks, these ones had some holes in the toes, they were too thin, and they did absolutely nothing to stop the numb in my feet.

Once that was done, though, I took out the Curious George cassette. Ended up pulling out the How To Live Forever, but I tossed that one to the side. Wasn’t interested. On another rainy day, maybe. I have two weeks before I have to return anything. This was enough time for me.

I reached back into the bag and this time winningly pulled out the Curious George cassette. I plugged in the multi-CD changer/cassette player into the outlet and I stick the cassette into the slot. Pressed play and snuggled down. I had brought my laptop onto my lap, and had finished my summer homework while listening to the curious tales of a George who’s also pretty Curious.

Three days later, once I had worn the Curious George one right out, I found myself doing absolutely nothing. Really. All summer homework was done; the reading assignment was read once, twice, and then a third-then-quit time.

Time for the diet cassette. What’s better than being reprimanded by a CD? Completely and wholly nothing. I figured it was about time I got a bit healthier, and get on the right track. Three days of a good day does wonders for your body, self-esteem, and psychologically, you actually feel like you lost weight.

Not really though. All them damn calories ruin the diet impact. But when I put the cassette in the slot, and when I put my finger on the play button, I did not get a happy, go lucky female, or male, who’s yelling into the microphone. Giving off all these ‘do you feeeeeel like…’ or ‘have you eeeeeever….’ Stuff like that which people from thirty years ago only said yes to. Like those self-esteem tapes also.

Instead, a dark, deep masculine female voice came over.

‘Three hundred years ago, this was when it all started. Three hundred years ago, I would defy all laws of science, and I would make my own laws. I would make my own science, and I would live all of eternity.’

Geeky. This sounded extremely geeky, this sounded like something that did not belong in my cassette player. Belonged in a stupid horror movie where its black and white and people always go down into the basement where the guy yelling ‘I’m going to kill you’ is.

‘My name is Anna.’

Original. I was expecting something like Valierea, or something like that.

‘I am 325, including my human years.’

‘Are you really?’ I had said to myself, out loud, like a dork. I’ve never normally talked to myself aloud, but this seemed like an appropriate thing to say. Even if it wasn’t too loud.

‘Yes, you’re probably saying something along the lines of a confirmation question. You said this aloud, and now you are talking to yourself, but in your brain.’ There was a pause. ‘I know you are wondering how I know this. I know you are feeling like you’ve been violated. You have been. I will first begin telling you about the ramifications of becoming immortal. I will tell you what you are, but not before you wholeheartedly agree to secrecy, but not before you entirely accept. If you do not, your mind will be erased, and you will have no memory of this.’

I knew then that this lady was a complete psycho, that she didn’t know which end of a pencil to use. I knew, just knew, that this lady was completely off her rocker. She was probably put into a psycho-home for the psychos. If she’s still alive, she drools, she eats with her mouth open, and she writes graphic fantasy novels but never completes them.

I decide then to press the stop button. I’ll continue later if I feel like I’m in for some crazy-insane-inane-stupid-talk.