Checking Out Library Books
Deborah Chava Singer
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I was sixteen and starting college early. Smartphones didn’t exist. People carried pagers; I didn’t own one yet. It was long before social media; going online was pay-per-minute.
With hours between classes sometimes I’d take the bus downtown to the big library. I’d go up the stairs and into the rows of bookcases. Looking around, I made sure nobody saw where I headed and the aisle was empty. I’d stand in front of a column of books next to the shelves I wanted. I’d study the books in front of me, ready to lie if asked what I was looking at. I was terrified it might happen or someone might guess what section I’d come for.
With repeated trips, I became bolder, standing closer, but always looking around, listening carefully and stepping far away if anyone neared. Finally, I could stand in front of the books I came to see, as long as no one was around. The Gay Section. My heart was racing. I wanted to check out some books, but that meant carrying them downstairs and giving them to someone at the front desk and then they would know.
This took planning. For weeks I studied the front desk activity whenever I walked by. I was casing the joint, but instead of a bank heist, I was checking out library books. I’d have to mentally select my books ahead of time so I could grab them all at once. Plus pick out other books I wasn’t going to read so I could hand the front desk person a stack with the gay books in the middle, hopefully they wouldn’t notice. I’d need my library card ready to hand over, fishing through my purse would give the clerk or librarian more time to notice what books I’d picked. Despite crappy gaydar, I tried figuring out which person working the checkout computers was most likely to be “family” though once I was in line I couldn’t really control who I got.
When it was time to carry out the plan … I seriously considered leaving empty-handed. I was looking at my watch because I had to get back to school. I wanted enough time to check out the books, but if anyone saw and followed me, not to be stuck too long waiting for the bus.
My heart was racing. I was sweating. I leapt … grabbed a couple gay books from The Gay Section, grabbed some other books to stack around them and got in line, my pulse in my ears. When it was my turn, taking a deep breath, I stepped to the checkout desk, pushing the books, and my library card, forward.
The clerk went through, scanned each one, put a return due date slip into the stack, and told me when they were due. I nodded, choked out a mumbled “okay” and grabbed the books, briskly walking out shoving them into my bag. I’d done it. I’d checked out gay books from the library.
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Deborah Chava Singer is originally from San Diego, California where she studied truth with the Mesa College Theatre Company and Queer Players. She currently resides in Washington state. Her writing has appeared in Disabled Voices Anthology, Stonewall’s Legacy, Chantwood Magazine, Hashtag Queer 2, Santa Fe Literary Review, The Human Touch, Cirque, MUSE, Jonathan, Chaffin, Twisted Vine, Off the Rocks, and others. Her visual art has been published in Molecule Magazine, Harmony Magazine, Up the Staircase Quarterly, City Works Journal, Blue Mesa Review, Cirque, and Off the Coast and been included in shows in the Pacific Northwest and beyond. In 2024 she shared her Time.Light.Motion photography series in the Corner Gallery at the Camas Public Library in Camas, WA.
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