It has been apparent that I must visit the library.  Such an unpleasant thought crossing through the enterance doors.  i just knew my body would begin to cower.  My baby blues would be darting to and from, searching for the nearest exit sign.  Childhood memories have taken charge.  As a small child my mother would take us to the local library for storybook time.  My sister would sit indian style with the other kids on the floor The beguiled look on her face use to blow me away.  Mom thought all her apt attention was on the dedicated reader and the story line.  I knew she was just killing time until cookies and juice was served.  My problem was the little girls room.  I could relieve myself five minutes before we hit the entrance, yet my bladder always betrayed me.  I would slither close to my mom and say" please mom".  She never had a problem letting me go.  She made me go solo.

As I stepped through those doors the library seems to come alive.  I spied no suit and armor encaing ghosts from by gone bloody battles.  There was not flag wraped up in the frame.  All indian artifacts are housed in catalog drawers, reffering to the pictires in the book.  Last but not least there are no existing stairs to climb to the restroom.  I had no fear that the tinkle and the flush sound would resonate to the captive audience below.