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75 Chapter Twenty-five Bobby Sherman We had a great gig going in junior high. If we wanted to walk three blocks to the city library during Study Hall to work on a special project, all we needed was a teacher’s permission slip and we were free of Study Hall, free of teachers. You’d be a fool to pass on this offer. But something happens to me in the library today. I’m certain the original reason I’m on that scooter is to scan the top shelf and look for a book. The book I’m expected to bring back to school as proof of my work completed at the city library. I can’t believe the freedom I’m feeling soaring down the aisles on a scooter. When I finally slow down a bit, I notice my friend is actually looking for a book. I do a few arm farts and Sharon thinks it’s funny, but not funny enough to do a few herself. But she thinks it’s really funny when the librarian comes storming after me. “Not you again. I should’ve known,” he says. “Not you again, Bobby Sherman.” “Mr. Sherman to you.” “But Bobby to your fans?” I laugh. “Please, just keep it down. This is the only warning I’m giving you today.” “Okay,” I lie. “Just behave. I know you can do it.” “Just sing. I know you can do it.” He rolls his eyes and walks back to his office. I do one more arm fart and scoot away, hoping this one will get pegged on Sharon, but Mr. Sherman doesn’t return. I don’t know where Mr. Sherman came from, but he didn’t come from our hometown. And, he was a man. All the other librarians were women. They even looked like librarians. Skinny. Neatly combed hair. Pleated skirts and ironed blouses. High heels that echoed through the library. But Mr. Sherman wore a tie. What kind of librarian wears a tie? What drove me the most crazy about him was that he was kind of cute, in an older man kind of way, and he did look a bit like the real Bobby 76 Burning Tulips Sherman. But that tie! And all those lectures for me to behave. I never misbehaved at the library until I met him. I had Bobby Sherman posters all over my bedroom wall. I liked every one of those posters until I learned that the librarian’s name was Bobby Sherman. Something was very wrong about this. Little by little I removed the posters and started being meaner and meaner to the imposter Bobby Sherman. All my life, I loved the library. I’d walk to the library practically every day during summer vacations. I’d go to all those kid events, join those summer reading clubs, win all those awards for reading all those books, watch the dull film strips, drink their Kool-Aid, eat the dry cookies, and return home with a stack of books. It was a ritual, like going to church. Instead of sitting in a pew, I’d sit on that carousel flipping pages of books, trying to figure out which three to check out.Then I’d stand by the window watching all the cars drive by, looking at the people feeding the fish at the park across the street. They weren’t pretty like our stained glass windows at the church. Those you couldn’t look out. Church is like that. Wants to keep you inside, not daydreaming. But libraries encourage daydreaming. I loved those big windows looking over the town. And I liked the silence. No hymns. No sermons until Mr. Sherman came to work. Zipping down the aisles again, I let a few more arm farts fly, and I never think about checking out a book. Never think about anything but how fast I can produce arm farts and turn corners. This is a new library experience. Something I had overlooked all those previous years when I’d whisper thanks to the librarian for letting me check out books. I can still see the cars drive by, and I’m moving faster than them. All the books become a blur. It has a dizzying effect on me. And it’s that dizziness that lands me into Mr. Bobby Sherman’s hands. All that freedom, that life, that vitality stopped by his strong hands lifting me by my shoulders off that...

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