The Personal Librarian

by Marie Benedict

You need a career like teaching that you can pick up at any time, no matter what setbacks you face,

That we should not be defined by how many drops of African blood run in our veins, but by our character and our deeds. That we should not be ashamed of our heritage and we all, blacks and coloreds alike, should unify in our fight against prejudice. Your act goes against everything I stand for and everything I’ve worked for—”

Before, I had a desire to be successful, but now, it can no longer be a simple desire; success must be my commitment.

Now I can think only about the serving hands that poured it. Those hands are cracked and swollen from heavy lifting and serving, while mine are covered in satin opera-length gloves. Why does she serve while I am served? Why is it that the relative whiteness of my skin has given me this chance at privilege?

In order to assimilate with this crowd, I must be bold, daring to hide my differences in plain sight.

“I am his personal librarian, you know.” His eyebrows rise a bit, and now his chuckle is genuine. “Personal, you say? Just how personal?” That is exactly the question I wanted him to ask. “I am personally responsible for making important acquisitions as well as being in charge of his collection. I am personally authorized to make the decisions and purchases all on his behalf.” I pause. “Entirely as I see fit.”

How strange is the power of geography and law that we could leave New York City as white people but arrive in Washington, DC, as colored.

I converse with fellow art realm professionals who, for once, seem interested not in my gender or the nebulous shade of my skin, but instead in my opinions.

It is as if we’ve stepped behind the curtain of a Broadway play to the ragtag mess backstage, losing the illusion in the process but gaining an understanding of how the magic is created.