A couple of library events scheduled for March are worth noting. The second one is of a particular and peculiar interest to me since I will be turning thirty later this month, and as they say, if you don’t start writing your memoir by the time you are thirty years old, you will never finish. (And if that is not what they say, they should.¹)

• Mon — Mar 22 — 7pm — A lecture on the physiological effects of the earthquake on the Haitian people.
• Sat — Mar 27 — 2pm — An introduction to memoir writing.

A couple months ago I responded to an email from a former colleague and I offered some advice on his upcoming Professional Engineering exam. I told him about my experience and the email ended up as a rather long, rambling story weaving somewhat random details of my life into a best-of-luck-to-you letter. It was meant mostly to be humorous (and the details were all true), but his response intrigued me. He said that I was “apparently in the middle of a memoir… it reads well, so keep going.”

I have since brushed that silly notion aside, of course, except for the following (very, very) short story, the second chapter of my memoir, what I titled The Free Library. Consider this an exclusive; it will be published in the Atlantic next month.²

The Free Library

I read a lot of books growing up — similar to most children, I suppose — pretty much any book I could get my hands on. The Boxcar Children, Encyclopedia Brown, anything. I had so many books I decided to start a library in my bedroom. I stacked the books neatly, created a library card and return slips with 3×5 index cards, and I invited my first customer into my room, my younger sister.

I am not sure which book she borrowed, but it was probably an Encyclopedia Brown, since following the thorough checkout process, she had returned to the library to borrow another book within an hour or two. (Encyclopedia Brown reads fast.)

I was caught off-guard and somewhat upset at the notion of a speedy return. I immediately established a new rule for a minimum borrowing time — that a book could not be returned within one day of checking it out — if only to validate the extensive effort of checkout. My sister thought that that idea was stupid, and that she wouldn’t borrow another book under such a rule.

The library folded later that day.