Page 104 of Checking Out the Librarian

All it needed was Lowly Worm’s apple car, or a replica of Goldbug’s car hiding in the raised planter. Maybe Connor could make one in his secret craft lair.

Jonathan held his arms wide. Should he twirl? One rotation, no more?

Three weeks of dating and he was dangerously close to status change: Snow White.

“Don’t touch that, it’s icky.” The woman’s voice was outside the courtyard, and immediately after Jonathan heard those words, she entered with one child perched on her hip, pulling a kid wearing a blue and white sailor dress and glittery pink cowboy boots. “We don’t play with garbage.”

She nodded at Jonathan as she passed.

He moved to the courtyard entrance and peered at the sidewalk. Icky was an understatement.

In the parking strip in front of the library, the city maintained two large garbage receptacles, one for recycling, the other for the landfill. Apparently yesterday’s Fourth of July festivities had more than filled them, or else raccoons had decided to do what raccoons do best, because trash was everywhere.

He could feel his nose wrinkling from the smell. And there was nasty goo. And yuck, now there were crows.

This couldn’t be in front of the building when story time ended and all the littles poured out at once to get back in their wagons and bikes and strollers and stagger around on their pitter patter feet, but neither city sanitation nor the evening custodian were here, only him. Him and the garbage.

He felt his shoulders go back and his spine straighten. Part of his brain was already mocking himself, but another part was selecting a soundtrack for what, he was sure, would indeed be a long and heroically choreographed clean-up program.

This was some gross litter, but he was a tough man and this would be okay.

Spoiler: It was indeed gross, and he was not tough.

But he’d found large black plastic garbage bags under the breakroom sink, filched the pair of yellow cleaning gloves someone had also left there (which were definitely going to be the last thing he threw in the last bag before he tied it, sorry not sorry whoever brought these gloves) and now it was done.

He wasn’t sure if he could find a hose to spray the ketchupy goo off the sidewalk, or if he must accept that the sidewalk slime would remain in place until rain occurred, but there was no more loose trash.

Go to library sciences school, he’d told himself during the pandemic. Get paid for sharing a love of books with actual people.

No one mentioned injuries from staple guns, the informal master’s in social work required to help many of the patrons, and the occasionally really nasty public garbage, but yes, absolutely he got to talk about books.

But also, the garbage.

Bag in each hand, Jonathan walked around the outside of the building to the dumpster in the alley. When he lifted the metal lid, it groaned like a creepy spaceship, but there was plenty of space inside for the bags. A moment later, it all clanged shut and he felt the satisfaction of having done a surprising, and surprisingly good, task.

Mew.

He paused.

Meeew.

That was an odd noise. The dumpster’s wheels kept it about six inches off the ground, so he bent down to look where the quivering sounds originated.

Mewww.

He saw gleaming eyes and white markings about two feet deep in the shadows, and knew he was looking at a kitten.

Mew. The kitten had closed its eyes when it made that thready noise, and then it opened them again and looked right at him, and he was done.

“Here, here, come right here.” He whispered and made a clicking noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a whole production of soft inviting sounds which he’d previously reserved only for Nutella croissants and really nice dicks, but there was a kitten quivering in the dark and he had to save it.

He, Jonathan Park, had another mission today that he would not, could not, fail.

The kitten crept closer.

He clucked again, a bit more quietly.

Mew mew. The kitten blinked and tottered, nearly falling, but it came closer.