I was sitting at home last Tuesday night, quietly minding my own business with a pot of tea and a mediocre book when my gal-pal Jodie sent me an alarming text informing me the Belle Isle Library has been unceremoniously closed, attached with a picture should I need proof.
My already fragile psyche was obviously shaken. Many people know that the Belle Isle Library was my first true job, obtaining a work permit to hold an afterschool gig as a page, shelving books and setting up meeting rooms for close to five years. It was additionally the site of many youthful erotic exploits, some of which I have chronicled here in the past and think about often.
Sadly, I haven’t been back in about twenty years, save for a quick run-in to use the computer when my internet was down. Still, when Jodie sent me that text, a live bolt of dead electricity ran through my veins and my chest started beating irregularly, providing another pitiful example of how I’m getting old and the world is moving past me.
But, as my pulse slowly went back to its semi-regular beat, I went online to look for the whole story, eventually finding out that the library is only shut down for massive remodeling, which is especially smart as library use is probably at an all-time low thanks to Covid.