The Library of Lost and Found

by Phaedra Patrick

The blackbird flew away and reappeared with a broken piece of mirror which he held up. The girl looked at her reflection and saw that the feathers she applied each night had grown into her skin. While she was waiting for things to change at home, she had changed, too. She had grown more determined and independent and, looking at the little blackbird, she made up her mind. Even though she didn’t know if the world was ready for a bird girl, she stood on her tiptoes and flapped her arms. Then she and the blackbird flew away, never to return.

She shuddered at James Herbert and Stephen King, read about misfit schoolgirls and ravenous rats, got lost in the lush worlds of Evelyn Waugh, and learned some of the mysteries of men from the steamier moments in Mills & Boon. The library had been her Narnia, and it still was.

She hadn’t actually noticed when her parents’ needs surpassed her own, like Japanese knotweed overtaking a garden. She just focused on being helpful, a dutiful daughter. It was clear to her now, though, that she’d given up her own chance of happiness to facilitate theirs. She took her notepad out of her pocket and stared at the green ticks, amber stars and red dots. They were a constant reminder that her only worth was in helping others.

She couldn’t understand library-goers who turned their noses up at commercial books, announcing that they only enjoyed literary reads. To her, authors should write what they wanted and readers had their pick of thousands of books to enjoy.

Elderly people don’t just want to look at photos of the past, or of a nice bloody view. I want to see bright lights, and hear music, and see young people having fun. I want to remember doing it myself.”

I don’t want to know what comes next until it happens. I take each page and chapter as they come.”