Before my last stroke, Oklahoma City’s long-suffering Belle Isle Library at 5501 N. Villa Ave. was in the process of finally renovating, revamping, and renewing its branch. Sadly, I didn't get to go to the ribbon-cutting because I was in a hospital bed clinging to life.
I know this probably doesn’t mean much to most people, but I spent most of my formative years in that library—first as a young patron, then as a teen “reader leader,” and finally as a library page (read: shelving books) making minimum wage.
It wasn't a very sexy job, but it paid my teenage bills, gave me plenty of bookish girls to meet, and a vast superiority complex that to this day is unparalleled and unrivaled. Really, it was such a good job that I really wanted to pursue library science in college but, sadly, my father went into the hospital and never came out and those dreams were dashed.
Well, at least in a figurative sense.
Over the years, I have had countless nocturnal dreams about my skewed vision of the place—one of these was just a few days ago. In my dreams, I always come to work, but I am years late for my shift. It’s always dark outside, and the lights are always flickering.
I dream about the stacks, the break room, and I vaguely remember that I worked there.
Mulling over this last dream, as my consciousness was somewhat restored, I decided to return to the scene of the crime to rekindle my feelings and, you know, get a new library card.
That is if my backlogged fines from the 1990s haven't blacklisted me.
Coming around from the backside of the library, I first noticed the blacktop was redone, with new fixtures and features. I then saw that the employee entrance had been changed, replacing a cool gray metal door with a more welcoming glass one.
There was a style about the Millennium Falcon-like body, with new benches and modern art overwhelming the frontage. But coming through the quiet sliding doors, I noticed that the mildewy smell of the old place had been replaced with a fresh scent that smelled like new books, new upholstery, and new patrons.
It was all new to me. The children’s area had been revamped, with fewer large meeting rooms and more educational displays. Also, it seems there is now a young adult section, as well as study rooms and, unbelievably, a makerspace—including an arts and crafts center with a 3D printer.
It was all too much.
As a bank of computers took over much of the library proper, I noticed that the old shelves were gone. Instead, they were smaller and more compact than I remember. I guess that’s thirty years of pruning and shucking for the annual book fair at the fairgrounds.
Over to the left of the library, the new circulation desk was open, with actual chairs and actual desks where commoners could check out books. As I turned in my new card application, expecting a sizable bill, I was relieved that they didn’t have a record of all those long-lost books; I was issued a new library card.
As the clerk gave me a rundown of the new regulations and other literary ephemera, it seemed all of my transgressions were null and void, giving me a new state of being—as a true patron instead of a well-liked employee.
I had to realize that that baby is grown and has moved out of the house.
As I was going to look up some books about the Beatles and other bands—one thing that has stayed put is the Dewey Decimal System, natch—I noticed on the table a flyer about an upcoming Indigenous artists' and authors' fair in a few weeks.
Already this thing is paying for itself!
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Follow Louis Fowler on Instagram at @louisfowler78.