Within the first week of English in the 10^{th<\/sup> Grade, my class\u2014like so many others\u2014adhered to the ancient tradition of picking a book out from the school\u2019s library. Later in the semester, we would be required to write a report on the selected novel. Most of my peers thought of the task as boring and abhorred the idea of spending their morning in a dusty library picking their poison, but I relished it. This would be my first time walking the increasingly less trodden paths that are enveloped by volumes of knowledge. <\/p>\n\n\n\n}

Two heavy wooden doors with portholes above the eyeline guarded this citadel of literature. My class stormed the gates and entered noisily. Many proudly voiced that they were going to find the smallest book possible. Then I saw him, the guardian of this place. There was an older gentleman with thick glasses sunk in a chair behind the large desk on the right side of the library. He looked defeated, overwhelmed by the barbaric force that carelessly trampled on his silence. Embarrassed by my company, I found my way to a secluded aisle. I was overwhelmed by the sights and smells of this forgotten, rejected place, so much so that I lost track of time\u2014and my class. Like the library, I was alone. Then I heard a low voice sound behind me, \u201cYou might like this book.\u201d The voice\u2019s owner pointed to an action book called Point Blanc<\/em> by Anthony Horowitz. I picked it up and followed the man to his desk. As he was stamping the book, my rights as a borrower were recounted and I listened intently to the consequences of submitting a late novel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

–<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

I burned through “Point Blanc” that evening, deeply inspired to become a kid spy (although I wasn\u2019t sure where to apply). In fourth period, I proudly waved my book to the English teacher and requested to pick out another. Running back to that mystical lair, I swung open the doors triumphantly and made my way to the Action and Adventure aisle. Snatching another Alex Rider<\/em> book, I strode purposefully to the desk. The novel masking the guardian\u2019s face was slowly lowered and set aside. Through the thick glasses, I could see a spark in the man\u2019s eyes. Something long lost was being rekindled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAlready done? Hmmph, that was pretty quick. Light reading, though. We\u2019ll have to get some substance for the next one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Signed, sealed, delivered, I was off again\u2014this time with expectations to meet. Same as before, I finished the book promptly that evening. Barely eating or drinking, I received sustenance from the words on the page before me. When I returned to the citadel of knowledge the next day, the sole resident wasn\u2019t reading…it seemed like he was waiting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know exactly what you need\u201d he said while sliding a book onto the desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWham!\u201d the stamp hit the inside cover of Ender\u2019s Game<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know it\u2019s sci-fi, but I think you\u2019ll like it. It even touches on some deep moralistic questions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This one took me two days. But when I entered the sanctuary, I could tell that I hadn\u2019t disappointed my mentor. Now the spark was ablaze. The gentleman swung out of his chair and whisked me around the room, tearing books off shelves and excitably mummering, \u201cAhh, this is the one! That is, if he is interested in\u2026No, it won\u2019t do\u2026\u201d and so on. Eventually, my guide through this literary jungle thrust John le Carr\u00e9\u2019s Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy <\/em>into my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis one\u2019s tough, but you can do it\u201d was all I got.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The book was stamped, and my fate was sealed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

–<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

One day became two, then a week, then a month. I couldn\u2019t do it. It seemed like someone took the plot, had it minced, and mailed its pieces to every country\u2014leaving it up to me to re-assemble the story. I had numerous questions, \u201cWhy so many stink\u2019n names to keep track of?\u201d, \u201cWhat country are we in?\u201d, and \u201cWhy on earth is all-class spy, George Smiley, hanging around a circus?\u201d. My family pitied this anguish of mine and my older sister recommended that I try reading the words and not the story\u2014advice left untaken. I knew what I had to do, but the thought was terrifying. I had to return to the treasured place with an unfinished book in hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The door felt heavier this time. I approached the desk only to find that the guard wasn\u2019t manning his post. I waited solemnly for my failure to be consummated. Eventually, the man returned and promptly took a seat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThis one took a while\u201d he said while scanning the barcode.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow was it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told him that I didn\u2019t make it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thanked him for his time and began to exit the library.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust a minute. There is a $2.00 late fee on this return.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The librarian didn\u2019t say this with glee or pain, but with dutiful resolve. I told him that I\u2019d return shortly to pay my debt. It was Friday, so I had some money with me for cafeteria pizza. When the bell rang, I slipped away from my friends, like I had some criminal rendezvous to get to. My change fell on the desk with the same ring as Judas\u2019s blood money when scattered across the priest\u2019s floor. I took one last look around the library scanning the paintings, the sea of books, and the librarian\u2019s eyes. The spark was out.  <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Within the first week of English in the 10th Grade, my class\u2014like so many others\u2014adhered to the ancient tradition of picking a book out from the school\u2019s library. Later in the semester, we would be required to write a report on the selected novel. Most of my peers thought of the task as boring and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":51,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","WB4WB4WP_MODE":"","WB4WP_PAGE_SCRIPTS":"","WB4WP_PAGE_STYLES":"","WB4WP_PAGE_FONTS":"","WB4WP_PAGE_HEADER":"","WB4WP_PAGE_FOOTER":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-31","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-nonfiction"],"yoast_head":"\n