A trip to the library

Went to the library this morning to look for The Fiery Cross, Diana Gabaldon's fourth book in the Outlander series.  I'd read the first three right before I got married, then read them through at least twice more while still living in Germany.  By the time book four came out in 2001, purchasing English-language books was still pricey, as we hadn't gone online yet, and I didn't have access to Amazon.co.uk.  So, I lost track of the series, altogether.  Now there are six books in the series, if I'm not mistaken, so I decided to get a leg up and break away from the likes of Stephen King.  I'm in need of a little unadulterated romance in my life, and a good time-travel book seems in order. 

I had to look for my library card.  It's been years since I'd used it and wasn't sure where it might be.  In fact, the last time I was at the library at all was with Alex, fostering his love of a good story and the written word.  When I found the card nestled in the pocket of an unused wallet (a relic from Germany and a former life) that had been shoved to the back of my desk, tucked behind the last school picture I owned of my son, I noticed that it not only had to be renewed, but that my married name (naturally) was on it.  Seeing that surname connected to my own still gives me a pang of discomfort.  As well, it felt bittersweet to return to the library--but without my energetic little boy in tow, who so clearly loved to visit and had so many interesting books to choose from.

When I found what I wanted (and then some!), I checked out.  The librarian surprised me with an overdue fine from July 2007.  I believe that was day I'd first taken Alex to the library and gotten each of us a library card.  For all subsequent visits, Alex had checked out his own books.  The fee was for 1.25, which sadly enough, I did not have on hand!  When I asked for the title of the book, the librarian gave me a puzzled little frown.

"Harry's Horrible Secret," she said.  "It's a children's book.  Does that sound right to you?"

"Yes," I said, the loss squeezing my heart.  "It was for my son."

"Well," she responded after a moment's consideration.  "I'll forgive it for you.  That was three years ago and it's only $1.25."

Three years ago.  Can you imagine?  I was two months separated, still delirious about having finally escaped my ex-husband's insanity.  Well, not entirely escaped, but certainly no longer immersed in it.  So full of hope and exhilaration and freedom, pleased as punch that I had removed my son from Alfi's constant influence to give him a sense of normalcy and calm and quietude, after a day at school and a few hours of his father's chaos until I picked him up after work.

The best laid plans of mice and men, often go awry...

Oh, the irony of it all.