Thanks for returning to the 2015 Summer Library Series, in which writers share their childhood memories of the library every Thursday, all summer long here at What She Might Think. Our July travels began in Philadelphia and end in the hot sun of Texas with this week's featured writer, Emilia Rodriguez. Please enjoy!
This Book: One Week
by
Emilia Rodriguez
We didn’t stay in places very long
when I was young. My parents were born
in Mexico. My father was not a U.S.
citizen. We moved to Fort Worth, TX when
I was in the first grade. Until then,
all of my classes had been bilingual. Spanish
was my first language. My English was
shaky. I could read a little and watch
cartoons, but holding a conversation was difficult.
If this is your first time travelling with the Summer Library Series, you can catch up by visiting all the places we've been this July: Philadelphia, Washington, Switzerland, and Iowa. Past seasons of the series are housed here. The series will continue through August, so please check back next Thursday, and share with friends and strangers until then.
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| "What is it about Empty Swimming Pools?" photo by Peter Shelk, Used under CC license |
by
Emilia Rodriguez
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| Emilia Rodriguez as a child, Used with author's permission |
On my first day of school, I had a migraine. I watched the teacher become more and more
frustrated as I struggled to tell her I needed to see the nurse. My lacking vocabulary, and the anxiety of
being in a roomful of strangers didn't make it any easier.
"She needs to go to the bathroom!" one
of the girls offered. I nodded and the
teacher pointed to the clock. She
explained that I should be back by the time the red hand went around the clock
three times. I nodded again and left to
find the nurse's office. I made it
halfway down the hall before I saw the library.
The library was big, colorful, a toy store I’d
never been to before. It made me forget I
had a headache or even a head. From
behind the glass doors, I saw a book with a picture of a coconut palm tree and
words like music on the cover, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom.
I knew I wasn’t supposed to be in the
library, so I took the book and crawled under a table. I didn’t care that it was dark or that I’d be
in trouble if I was caught. I felt happy
because I wasn't struggling to communicate or keep up. Eventually, the girl who’d sent me to the
bathroom found me. She said the teacher
was upset and wanted me to come back, but all I wanted was to stay.
We moved again when I was in second
grade, to a border town called Roma, Texas.
Roma is located in Starr County, the poorest county in Texas, so you
shouldn’t be
surprised to hear that its library was a trailer hitched by the public
pool. My aunt used to take me there on
weekends. I loved it. I got my first
library card there. Blue card stock, typewriter ink, and the feeling of
belonging. I remember walking around knowing it was in my pocket and feeling
like a grown-up. I had all these new
responsibilities. I had to meet the
reading deadlines and make sure I didn’t lose the borrowed books. It was a promise.
I felt like I broke that promise when my aunt
drove me to a library in Mcallen, TX. It
was the biggest library I’d ever seen, complete with spiral staircases and more
children's books than I had remaining days of childhood to read them. At first I was happy just to be there, but
that feeling soured when I remembered my promise to belong to the other
library. When I asked my aunt about it,
she explained that I could borrow books here, too. She explained that this library was
Public. It belonged to everyone.
That day I remember bringing home a book about
Ramona Quimby. In it, Ramona squeezed
out an entire tube of toothpaste into the sink.
It was something I had always wanted to do. As I read it, I felt my hands squeeze at the
tube of paste, making a twisted rope of red, white, and blue mint. Afterward, Ramona’s wastefulness was
discovered, and she was severely scolded by her mother. I felt Ramona’s joy turn into regret. She was punished by having to scoop the
toothpaste into a plastic bag and use it every day. The toothpaste fiasco was meant to be a
lesson for me, and children everywhere.
Our parents have worked hard for the American Dream, so don't squander
your privilege, however small it may feel.
It was a good first choice of book, because each time I returned for a
new one, it was done with the bewilderment of someone having survived the Great
Depression. I had the awareness of
owning something in excess and having the responsibility to ration. This
toothpaste: one month. This book: one
week.
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| Emilia Rodriguez, used with author's permission |
Emilia
Rodriguez is a native Texan and a graduate of Texas State University where she
is now an MFA candidate in Fiction. She
has previously been published in Cleaver Magazine and Hypertrophic Literary. She currently lives in San Marcos, Texas with
her husband, and is working on her first novel.
If this is your first time travelling with the Summer Library Series, you can catch up by visiting all the places we've been this July: Philadelphia, Washington, Switzerland, and Iowa. Past seasons of the series are housed here. The series will continue through August, so please check back next Thursday, and share with friends and strangers until then.
