Silence

Shhh! We turned at the sound and beheld the stern scowl of the public library monitor as she admonished us. Steely eyed, with piercing glance, jaw set so tightly even her wrinkles retreated in fear. She seemed to be born for this job of hushing raucous grade-schoolers who had invaded the “ big “ library for the first time, under the pretext of doing their homework assignment together. This was our second warning. The third would mean expulsion and possible banishment for life. Such threats, however, could not deter giggles from bubbling up inside two anxious sixth grade boys, who constantly prowled their lives for new adventures. Silence is for old people! Silence is unheard of for kids! It is the worst form of torture. The story, of course, ends with expulsion, but here is the all important epilogue: The public library was large and rectangular with a grand main entrance. Directly across from this entrance, sixty feet away, was a rear entrance through which you might enter and exit to the parking lot. This was the entrance through which we had arrived. We were escorted to the main entrance with a great show of force and a substantial demonstration of authority. We were almost physically ejected. Undefeated and undeterred however, we waited five minutes before re-entering boldly through the main entrance. We strode briskly across the sixty feet to the rear entrance, to exit of our own volition. All the while trying desperately (and failing miserably) to maintain the certain pride that comes from exhibiting both grace and decorum. Instead, we were giggling and busting up, wide-eyed and panic- stricken as we half staggered and half-ran into the everlasting history of our adolescence. Filled with our own brand of pride, one that was bestowed on all those who conquer any obstacle, be it mighty windmills or fearsome library witches