If Hank hadn’t spent the last ten years learning that it’s not that others are “too much” but rather he’s too quiet, too introverted, he’d be overwhelmed by her entire speech. But he knows it’s him. She’s saying so much, none of which is necessary but Hank nods and does his best to be sympathetic and understanding. There was clearly nothing malicious meant here and accidents do happen. Stepping backward into his home, Hank tosses the blanket over the back of the couch and then carefully balances his mug on it. The dirty lounge pants and well-worn sweatshirt aren’t exactly a look he wants to show off but they’re slightly better than a blanket cape. Keeping his left leg straight and balancing on the door frame, Hank squats down to grab the package. “No one looks to see if their name is on the label before opening. There’s just an assumption the postal workers did that for them. Myself included. So, are you Summer then?”
“Growth in diversity?” Hank’s interest in this conversation grows. “I’ve found that in the older kids books. It’s led to a few uncomfortable conversations and reminders of, uh, my fate but I could use some more for the ones not reading middle grade. It’s exhausting trying to stock that library though. My goal next year is to start learning how to write grants though I am afraid it means i’ll have to talk to the school board. Either way, that’s next year. And…” Hank froze, closing his eyes tight. None of that was anything she’d asked for. He needed to stop talking. Huffing as he deflated, silently apologizing to her.
“If you’re sure, I’ll make sure they make it into classrooms. Teachers are always looking for books. Kids are…so rough on them.” Hank found himself wishing he’d kept the comfort of the blanket but tried not to suffocate in the awkward atmosphere he’d made.
“Yes...Summer, that’s me.” She’s trying to quell her urge to nervous ramble like she’s a book character sharing an internal monologue. Summer, you talk to people like you’re reading them a book, there’s no room for them to talk back to you, people used to say to her. She was trying to work on it, but it got hard when she was nervous. But there’s something familiar in his body language, something that says he’s socially awkward and nervous too, they just happen to wear it differently. His feels more like a held breath and hers is akin to hyperventilation. She decides she likes him, and wants to actively try not to talk herself into the territory of annoying nuisance.
She watches him deflate but she wants to encourage his words, finds them easy to follow, words she agrees with. This little bubble inside of her is filled with the words, me too me too me too. “I can give you some really really great recommendations for picture books with diverse content. Beginning readers is still a little...slow to get on board, but I can probably find you a few recommendations there too.” She gives a small nod, her hands nervously disappearing into the pockets of her dress. “Yeah I...am working on not letting myself be affected by what other people think my fate is, but some days I’m better at it than others. I hope your grant writing goes well though, if anyone deserves a grant it’s someone who wants to use it to fill a library with representation for any and every child that might walk in there. It’s important what you do. Those kids are really lucky to have you.”
“Oh god you’re telling me,” she answered with a laugh. “I grew up in foster care and we had like...five books to share if we were lucky. I remember the first time I held a book in my hand that wasn’t half falling off the spine it was like...magic.”
