Storytime with Amber

Bast was bent over, his old dog-tags clanking against the floor as he tried to reach under the cabinet for his pen. He was not making good progress. The cabinets in the back office were nailed to the wall, and even if they weren’t, they were solid oak and completely filled with old documents. Despite his well-developed musculature, even he wouldn’t be able to move them alone. The pen might be a lost cause.

He released a deep sigh, just as his coworker, Abigail, walked through the door.

“Sebastian? They need you in—why are you on the floor?”

“I dropped my pen.”

“Oh, that old plastic thing? Maybe it’s time for a new one. Bic pens are like five for a dollar.”

“I like mine,” he replied, before looking up at her. He had not noticed how slender her arms were before now. Perfect. “Do you think you could reach it? You might have more luck.”

Abigail first looked down at her pale lilac dress, then looked pointedly at the dust that covered the floor. “I think I’d rather not…” she replied. Bast normally would have dropped it, but this was important.

“Here, let me put my sweater down. You can kneel on that.”

Abigail looked at him like he had gone mad for just a second, but then nodded her acquiescence. “I’ll try.” Her voice held just a touch of exasperation, but that was common while she was at work. Abigail wasn’t always known for her friendliness. It was why Bast liked her so well.

A few seconds later and Abigail was lying completely prone, reaching as far as she could under the cabinet. But she was short. Everything about her was short, including her arms, and she couldn’t get her hand to the back of the cabinet. She’d never reach the pen.

“I can’t do it,” she confirmed.

“It’s all right, thank you for trying.” An awkward few seconds passed and then, “What did you come in for?”

“What?” Abigail started, then let out in a rush, “Oh! They need you in the computer lab. The finicky computers all turned on, so we temporarily lost power and some patrons are a bit angry.”

“On it,” Bast replied before standing and striding out of the room, leaving Abigail to dust herself off. It was just one damned thing after another at this library, and had been since he’d started 6 years ago. He was tired. But he still loved this place—the serenity that could only be found in books, the plants and fountain that the last Director had brought in, the safety of the entire building. This was a place of knowledge and learning, but also a place of refuge. It was such a stark contrast to the life he’d left behind. Anybody could come here at any time, for any reason, and be allowed to simply exist—provided they did not disturb anybody else. Bast even loved the computer lab that he had instated two years ago. Despite the massive headache that the endeavor had been, he had seen how much having a computer, internet, and a printer had been able to change lives. Sure, there were teenagers who used the computers to play around and attempt to bypass the security features. But there were also the ones able to research and type up essays who didn’t have the means to do so at home. An elderly woman came to print knitting patterns to make blankets for her grandchildren. A single mother had been able to apply for jobs, a high school student submitted her college applications, a man applied for housing assistance. Each of these people stood out in his memory. Bast reminded himself of the good this room was doing for the community as he put on his best customer service smile and went to see what the issue was.

As soon as Bast finished calming down patrons and assuring them that they could still use the other computers, he headed back to the office to call an electrician. The problem in the computer lab had gone on long enough. There was a table of computers where, if you turned on all eight of them, the room would lose power. Mostly, they handled it by putting an out of order sign on one of the computers and hoping for the best. It was a bigger issue than any of the staff could solve themselves, so they would need an electrician. But before he made any calls, he wanted to try one more time for that blasted pan.

A knock on his door as Abigail entered again. “Need anything before I go, boss?”

“No, no, I’m just… calling an electrician,” he said from the floor.

“I can see that.” Abigail looked uncomfortably around the room, not leaving. Bast was getting irritated.

“Why are you always banging in here when I’m on the floor lately?”

“I’m ‘banging in here’ the normal amount. How much time are you spending looking for that pen that it’s the only thing I see you doing?”

Bast couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just growled in response.

“Well, good luck with the electrician, then!” Abigail left before Bast could get any angrier. Probably smart of her, but it did nothing but darken his mood even further.

---

A week later and Bast had almost given up hope. Nothing had worked—hangers, rulers with tape on the end, paper clips tied to strings. He’d even bought an extendy grabber thingy. He’d tried everything he could think of to get that pen, but to no avail.

To top it off, the electrician had told him that the wiring for the computer lab was off and they’d need to upgrade a circuit before the computers would work again. He’d been given a quote, but it was nowhere near to fitting in the budget. And either way, a project that big would need to be brought before the board, and then there would be all of the bureaucratic red-tape that went along with working for a public library. Eight of the twenty-four computers would be inoperable for the foreseeable future.

Abigail knocked. ‘What is it now?’ he thought to himself. But what he said was a simple “enter.”

Without saying a word, Abigail strode up to his desk and placed a wrapped box down in front of him.

“What’s this?” he asked, a bit curtly.

Her brow rose. “You’ve never seen a gift before? Open it.”

Tearing back the paper, he saw the corner of a box of pens—clear, simple, blue lid, Bic. Rage rushed through him.

“Now you can—” Abigail started, but Bast cut her off.

“Get out.”

“But—”

“Out. Now.” He felt his tone and body language shift. He was using his Sergeant voice, and he did not care. She needed to leave, and she needed to take her damned pens. He picked up the offending box, loathe to even touch it, and held it out for her to grab on her way out.

She left, the door clicking shut behind her, and Bast stared at the wall in silent fury until a single tear slid down his cheek. Maybe it wasn’t fury after all. Taking a shaky breath, he decided a personal day was in order. Maybe an entire weekend. He had a trip to make.

---

Most people hated Mondays, but Bast always enjoyed them. The library was closed on Sundays, so everything was fresh on the first day of the week. And it was quiet. Generally only the academics who needed to be here to study or the retirees who weren’t sure which day it was anyway showed up to a small-town library on Monday morning.

After his weekend away, Bast felt a bit more calm, a bit lighter. But he still was not ready for the chaos of a Saturday. No, a quiet Monday was the best time to return, he thought to himself as he opened the doors.

“Surprise!” The library’s daily staff members were standing underneath the children’s summer program banner, clapping and beaming at him. Abigail stepped forward, bringing her husband with her. What was his name again? Right, Bryce.

“You do look surprised, at least!” she commented.

“I am,” he replied. “What am I surprised about?”

“Abby told me about your computer issues and asked if I could take a look. It turned out, if you just moved one of the tables to the other side of the room, they’re plugged in on a different circuit and everything works just fine! You’ll have to get it all signed off on, but my team did the labor, free of charge. It’s ready to go!” Bryce pointed towards the rows of computers, and indeed one of the tables had been moved across the room, separate from the rest, and they were all turned on without issue.

Bast was struck speechless. He’d met Bryce only a handful of times and liked him well enough, although they weren’t close. From what he had learned in their few interactions, Bryce’s business consisted of a small team of contractors who were constantly working to make ends meet. He knew how much work this had taken. This was too much, and Bast started to say so, but Bryce held up his hands to stop him.

“Consider it a donation.”

“And don’t tell him that’s not how donations work,” Abigail chimed in. “He knows but he doesn’t care. I told him how upset you’ve been and he insisted on helping out a friend. He also got this. Took almost two hours to pull everything down and put it back together.”

She held out a pen. Bast reached out to take it, turning it over until he saw the little heart carved into the end. His pen. Well, her pen. His eyes began to water and a lump formed in his throat.

“Thank you,” he managed to choke out before the tears started to fall. He noticed most of his staff look away or shuffle their feet nervously. A few commented on returning to work and made their retreat. It was unusual to see this much emotion from their director.

Abigail took Bast’s arm and led him away. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell her what was going on. This was not the appropriate response to a pen.

“It’s…” he started, but had to stop to clear his throat. “It’s my mother’s pen. Or, it was. She gave it to me the last time I saw her. Before I was deployed. She said it was…” he took a shuddering breath and cleared his throat again before continuing, “said it was lucky, and that I’d need the luck more than her. The cancer took her while I was gone. It was so fast, and I didn’t even go to the funeral.” The tears fell again and a sob escaped.

Abigail’s eyes shimmered as she looked at him. “Well, that makes sense then. Your mother has always been a touchy subject. But you know you didn’t take her luck from her, right? It’s not your fault.”

Bast looked away, ashamed. Leave it to Abigail to pick up on exactly what was bothering him.

“I visited her. It’s why I took the weekend. To drive to her grave. Finally say goodbye—and apologize. I should have been there for her.”

“You can’t be everywhere, Sebastian.”

He barked out a sharp laugh. “Have you seen this library? I have to be everywhere.”

Abigail smiled wryly. “You do have me to lean on,” she reminded him.

Bast smiled. A real smile. And his heart felt lighter. “I do,” he responded. And then he looked around. “I have all of you. A community.”

Abigail smiled at him. “A community. And a pen.”

“And a pen,” he repeated, feeling his mother’s love and knowing that his life was on the right path.