Frank exclaims, "what happened!?" as the printer spews forth many more pages than he anticipated. Later, I approach him to lower his voice, and he gives me a self-deprecating smile, plaintively confessing, "I am going away." Suddenly, I hear a soft, high voice singing. Little, happy Vy is contentedly reading some very thick classic while listening to an opera, which she apparently knows by heart. Now how am I gonna shut that down?
I am suddenly overcome with one of those flooded moments: these people are precious. I look over at Andy, the very big, very loud guy, who is right now hunched over his math problems, not making a sound.
I look over to see a girl furtively toss a social studies book to two others at the table next to her. It falls just short and crashes in a splayed mess on the floor. The three girls look up wide-eyed. I turn and bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Meanwhile, Frank bounces over to the three-hole punch at the circulation desk. In one swift motion, his papers and the three-hole punch are on the floor. And that is it. I burst out laughing, exactly in the manner that I go about shushing all evening, and though I try, I can't quite contain it; hiding my face in the 500s section, I wipe away tears. Some days, keeping people quiet is an impossible joke.
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