06: NYPL: Gateway to More Worlds

Walking the stacks in a library,
dragging your fingers across the spines—
it’s hard not to feel the presence of sleeping spirits.

Robin Sloan

As the three entered, Peg was struck by the library’s grandeur. Surely too stupendous to be a public library, the floors were colored marble with diverging veins. The ceiling towered over them with ornate paintings, with sculptures decorating the walls and people peering down from each floor. Forgetting what Paul taught her, she started turning, staring up at everything before catching herself.

“Don’t worry. It is spectacular. That behavior is expected here.”

“You’d think,” Tim reflected, “for the money they dumped into building this, they could house a few homeless kids.”

“The problem is, we don’t want to be housed. We want families of our own—without being shipped back to those seeking to harm us. Besides, I’m sure Rockefeller took in more than his share of pretty young things.”

As Peg continued spinning, she hopped around something the others couldn’t see.

“Really? Here too?”

“Yes,” she giggled. “There’s actually a fair amount. Somehow I can’t see many people dying here.”

“Unless you count the Irish and Black construction workers,” Tim said. “But what the heck are you talking about? What am I missing?”

She grinned as she turned to Paul. “How much do you trust him?”

He looked at his friend. “Completely! We’d die for each other.”

“Yeah.” Tim sidled up to him, still not comprehending what they were discussing. “With the odds as stacked against us as they are, we need friends we can rely on. If not for Paul, I would never have lasted this long, and while I’m nowhere as cute as he is, I do okay.”

Studying the crowds surging around her, including the vast open areas, Peg’s expression turned serious. “You need to get in close and time it carefully for when a group walks past.”

“Come on, guys. This is getting old. What’s the big joke?”

“Trust me,” Paul said, shifting so he and Tim were behind her. “She ain’t kidding. Just wait and see. As I said, the Library is a magical place. Extraordinary things happen here.”

“If you’re teasing me, this isn’t funny.”

“Hold on until this group passes, but keep your eyes on Peg. If you glance away, you’ll miss it.”

“I don’t have any clue what you’re—Holy crapfest!” he exclaimed. “Where’d she go?”

“Shh. Give her time. The magic seems to play fast and loose with time, but she should be back any...”

Peg reappeared, exactly where she’d been, grinning like she’d won a prize.

“What do ya think?” she asked. “Impressive, no?”

“Heck, yeah, it’s amazing. What the hell did you do?”

“Where’d you go this time?” Paul inquired, still surveying those around them to ensure no one noticed her brief disappearance.

“I didn’t stop to ask, but it’s a pleasant suburban neighborhood with green yards and lots of children. It was warm and sunny too.” She got a mischievous expression on her face, grinning at them. “Wanna take a trip out of the city and pretend we’re normal kids for a while?”

“This is getting weird. I mean, it’s a cool trick, and I can’t figure it out, but—”

“Hell, yeah,” Paul agreed. “I wouldn’t mind returning to the childhood I never got to enjoy. Are there swings?”

Peg frowned. “No, just homes, but the streets are wide and the kids are running around playing ball.”

“Shit, and I forgot my damn glove!”

She reached out and grasped both their hands. “You’ve got to move fast and stick close to me. I have no idea what happens if your hands are outside, but they may get chopped off.”

“We—what?” Tim’s eyes widened as he realized she was serious about whatever she was planning. “What are you gonna do?”

“Okay,” she said, pulling them along as she stepped forward and disappeared, drawing them into the same void she’d vanished into.

The next thing they knew, the Library, in all its grandeur, and the entire city and isle of Manhattan, were gone. Replaced by a cul-de-sac, with split-level homes and two groups of kids playing rambunctiously. A bunch of boys were tossing a baseball, while the girls chased each other.

“What ... the ... hell ... just ... happened?” Tim demanded, glaring at the two.

“I’m telling you; the girl is magic.” Spinning in place, here Paul was the out-of-towner, and the local kids the resident experts. “Just as the Lions outside become real whenever someone tries to sneak out an unchecked book, the Library helps make things extra magical.”

“You can ... do this any time?” Staring at Peg, the other boys were the furthest thing from Tim’s mind.

“Yeah, but I can’t go anywhere, only specific locations. I need to find a hole, sorry, a ‘portal’ and get a feel for how safe it is. It helps seeing where it leads. But all I need is one nearby and I can disappear anytime, and they’re all over! However, each time I take a new one, I can end up anywhere. I’ve been across this country, and somewhere in Asia too.”

“How ... is this even possible?”

“It’s magic,” Paul repeated. “Don’t overthink it. We came here to be kids again. Stop thinking like a short adult and let’s join in.” He wandered off with Peg following, waving at the other boys. “Hey, mind if we play?”

Those playing catch turned and stared, surprised at finding a new unfamiliar group. “Uh ... sure,” one boy said, taking in their fancy attire rather than the shorts and t-shirts the rest wore. “Do you have a glove?”

Paul held his hands up. “Nope. I plum forgot. But we’re hardy, throw it and we’ll cope.” The kid shrugged, glancing at his friends, and lobbed the baseball at him.

He wasn’t as fast as he thought, lunging for it but catching it and rolling in the grass, standing as if it were routine. “See. No big deal,” he said, displaying the ball for the others to see, before turning. “Tim, catch.”

“It’s been a long ... yow!” He scrambled, as Paul threw it before he was ready. Unsure how the game was played, he was more into hockey, winter sports and climbing—which he couldn’t easily access anymore.

They were only playing a few minutes when one kid shoved the others aside and confronted the new hero. Larger than his companions, he wasn’t very tall but was broader and more visually intimidating.

“Hey, faggot! I’m in control of this game. You can’t walk in and take over!”

It caught the new arrivals by surprise, but Paul threw his shoulders back, drew close and glared at him.

“I’m out, proud and ready to defend myself. I’m no pushover. If you’re looking for a fight, I’m more than willing to take you on. I just had it out with a bookie who wanted to break my leg, so tackling the lot of you is nuthin’.”

Sizing him up, the new kid stopped, contemplating what he’d walked into. Tim fell behind and to the left, while Peg remained a little farther behind and to the right. The other boys—used to such behavior—shied away, looking away rather than engaging or assisting him.

The big guy doubled down. “You don’t seem so tough,” he scoffed, glancing at the couple of kids backing him. “We’re not afraid of a fight either.”

“No? I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you the first punch, and then all bets are off!”

The bully hesitated, either questioning whether he could win or suspecting a trap. Shrugging, Paul started to turn, then spun, throwing a blow that seemed wide. The kid stumbled back, gasping, before collapsing and clutching his throat, coughing and choking. His two supporters immediately backed up.

“Anyone else?”

“I thought you were giving him the first shot?”

“I got bored waiting. Bullies are all talk. We’re from the mean streets of New York. I’ve seen street beatings, gang initiations, police shootings and dead bodies galore.”

“No, no,” one boy said, backing up before turning and fleeing. The other watched, hesitating a moment as he reassessed the situation. Kneeling beside the struggling boy, he helped him stand as he kept gagging before falling into another coughing fit.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Peg asked, as the guy led the deflated bully away.

“Yeah, I’m not strong enough to damage someone’s windpipe, but it gets their attention.”

“Best of all,” Tim said, not taking his eyes off the exchange, “it has a built-in defense. When you don’t aim for the face, everyone assumes you’re a lousy shot and missed. Besides, after regaining his breath—aside from being a little hoarse—there won’t be any evidence Paul ever punched him.”

“Aside from all the kids watching,” Peg mumbled, observing those surrounding them standing back.

Paul chuckled softly, breaking into a grin and holding his hands up. “Come on, who wants to continue playing?”

Glancing at one another, a couple boys approached. Someone threw him the ball, which he tossed to someone else, and soon the children swarmed them.

“Man, that was so neat! Did you plan it?”

“No one’s ever stood up to Bud before. It was great seeing you whup his ass!”

“Can you show us how to do that?”

“Do what,” Paul chuckled. “He slipped. I never touched him!”

The kids again glanced at each other, gauging their reactions.

“You’re right, I didn’t see a thing.”

“He was retreating so fast he lost his footing and did a face plant!”

“Is what he said true?” Peg whispered.

“Nah. He’s exaggerating. You rarely see such violence in New York, especially Manhattan. It’s not Chicago. People will speak up, but fistfights are uncommon and shootings are rare. New Yorkers fight with words, not guns.”

“Taken down once, he’s not nearly as terrifying,” Paul said. “His friends won’t be so quick to support him, and he’ll hesitate, like he did this time. If you act quickly, and don’t back down, you can take your neighborhood back.”

“Yeah,” one kid replied, turning to another as if the idea was his. “I guess we could.”

“He’s running scared,” another declared, with the authority of an arm-chair general.

“So, let’s restart the game,” Paul suggested, hoping to change the tenor after becoming the local cause célèbre. Seeing how swamped he was, one boy approached Peg and Tim, speaking in a low tone.

“Bud picked a fight with one of my friends the other day, saying the same things, and Walt lost it. I’m worried about him.”

“Hey, Paul,” Tim called, signaling a timeout with his hands. “Private meeting.”

Excusing himself, he hustled over. “What’s up?”

“Tell us about your pal. Most gays not only consider suicide, they try it several times. If you don’t step up, you may end up with a body on your conscience.” While he looked worried, the comment struck Peg particularly hard. She and Paul closed in, blocking the rest of the kids out.

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I didn’t know where to turn. I don’t want to tell a teacher and embarrass him even more. If it gets out, he might become more suicidal.” The new kid hesitated. “Could you talk to him for me? I’m hoping you’ll know what to say, having been through it yourself.”

“Yeah, I’ve talked with a lot of people, hearing what they’ve been through,” Paul admitted, glancing down. “It’s difficult, but talking to others who’ve faced it makes it easier. We tend to stick up for each other.”

“I haven’t seen him much lately,” he said. “I’m afraid of what it means.”

Paul glanced back at Peg. “We may not have much time. Where does he live? Is it far?”

“No,” he said, turning and preparing to lead them, the other boys scattering, unsure what was happening. “He hasn’t been in school or come outside. I’m worried. I’m Ryan, by the way,” he added as an afterthought.

“I’m Paul, this is Tim and the cutie is Peg. We’re from ... outta’ town.”

“Yeah, like from way out of town,” he replied. “It’s clear you ain’t from around here, which is why I thought you might know what to do.”

Walking a bit with the other kids following, they lost a few, though the rest remained curious. After the fight with Bud, the newcomers were more exciting than the game.

“Are you from the city?”

“We’re all from Manhattan, so we’re used to standing up for ourselves.”

“Yeah, New Yorkers will tell anyone off,” Tim asserted. “We don’t put up with no guff.”

Ryan glanced at Paul, nodding. “Your fancy shirts and leather jacket kinda gave it away.”

“It’s hard to be overlooked when we’re so flaming fabulous!”

“You manage to pull it off, though I’d never dream of dressing like you.”

They cut across a yard, approaching a modest, but pleasant home. The curtain flickered as someone glanced out, only to disappear again.

“What’s the kid’s name?” Paul asked.

“Walter Smoore.”

“Youch! Someone’s Mom musta wanted him to get beaten up.”

Stepping forward, Ryan rang the doorbell. The three stood behind, while the others kept off the porch, still curious what was happening.

When she answered, he was as mild as a church mouse in an empty parish full of hungry cats. “Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Smoore, but ... can we speak with Walter?”

She studied him. “You’re Ryan, right?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I am.”

She glanced behind her. “I’m not sure whether Walt is up to seeing anyone today.” She checked out the others. The three stood out, and she was curious, not having seen them before.

He stepped back, indicating the three newcomers. “Rather than talking to me, I found a few kids who might be easier to talk to.”

The woman crossed her arms, eyeing the three. “And what would they know about it?”

“Ma’am, my friend and I are gay. We’re open about it, but have many friends who aren’t. We’re familiar with these issues.”

She eyed him warily. “No one ever said Walt is homosexual.”

Paul shrugged. “If he isn’t, there’s no harm done, though it’ll give him a different perspective and some common responses. However, if he’s unsure, or afraid to admit it, your reluctance to discuss it may send a dangerous message.”

Considering it, she dropped her arms and looked in their house. “All right, you can come in. I’ll ask my son. It’s up to him, but do we need all four of you?”

Paul nodded at his friends. “Sorry, but we travel together. Peg is our ride home.”

Mrs. Smoore raised her brow, but stepped aside, allowing them in.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll wait outside. I don’t want to seem nosy.” Ryan sat on the brick steps, facing away from the door. “You can tell me whether it helped.”

The three entered and Walt’s mother went to check with her son. Not wanting to offend her, they waited patiently. She returned, a few moments later, with him peeking nervously from behind her. Even from there, Peg noted his glace at Paul and Tim was longer than normal, though he barely noticed her.

“Walt, these are...”

Paul strode forward, extending his hand. “I’m Paul, and these are Tim and Peg. We’re from New York City, the Mecca of gay culture. I can tell you; it gets easier than it is now.”

Walt glanced at his mother, almost wincing as he did. When she didn’t respond, he relaxed a little.

“Why don’t we sit,” Paul offered, “where we can speak a little more freely.”

“You don’t have to,” she assured Walt, “though they appear to know more about it than me. If nothing else, it’ll answer any questions you may have.”

Walt considered it. Squaring his shoulders, he sat beside Paul, while Tim sat across from them. Not wanting to interfere, Peg stood in the background, behind the couch. Walt’s mother remained where she was, close enough to listen, but not near enough to intimidate them—much.

“Are you really from New York?”

“Yeah. The Bronx is nice too, much cheaper, particularly with a partner. But Manhattan is where the action is, especially for gays and lesbians,” Paul said, nodding towards Peg, who blushed.

Walt, like his mother, was slight, slim and brunette, Walt retaining a smattering of blond streaks though he wasn’t very tanned. Fidgeting, he’d clasp his hands one moment, twiddling his thumbs the next, before rubbing his hands on his jeans. He also had fine, long lashes and delicate features, with blue-green eyes, while his mother’s were hazel.

Seeing they were at least talking; his mother took a step closer. “I’m Maryanne. Would anyone like a drink? We have lemonade, Pepsi or Orange Juice.”

“I’ll take the lemonade,” Tim said, grinning. “Traveling so far has me plum parched.” Paul elbowed him lightly.

“I’ll take a water, Mary,” he said, almost curtly, as if he couldn’t be bothered learning her full name. “Chances are, we’ll talk quite a bit, so I want to stay hydrated.”

When she glanced towards Peg, she held her gaze, testing Paul’s theory, and Maryanne quickly looked away. “I’m fine,” she said.

“If you change your mind, let me know.” Leaving the room, hesitating to glance back at her son, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Once she’d left, Walt relaxed, his hands resting in his lap. They remained active, just not as fidgety. “Does it really get better?”

“Absolutely. Elementary and high school are the worst, or at least I’m told,” Paul said. “Many kids try committing suicide, whatever their sexuality, as many aren’t sure for some time, making it worse.”

“The key is talking to others,” Tim expounded. “That way, they’ll share what they’ve been through, letting you know you’re not alone.”

Walt glanced towards the kitchen before speaking. “I’m fairly sure I am, but wasn’t ready. Now that everyone knows, I don’t know what to tell anyone.”

“It’s easier once you own it,” Paul offered. “The kids in your school may never welcome you, but you’ll be more comfortable in your own skin if you accept who you are, whoever that is.”

“And don’t worry about what the others think. All they’ve heard are rumors, and they understand those are usually false,” Tim said.

“Your best response is to march into school as if you’re Clark Kent. Let their accusations bounce off like bullets against Superman. You don’t need to admit anything, but you want them to know you aren’t scared by tall tales. Now, you’ve given them power over your life. You need to get it back, or you’ll be running your whole life.”

“I can’t fight them,” Walt argued.

“Nor should you. It’s what they want, as you’ll get in trouble instead of them. Getting in fights or arguing makes it worse. Acting like you don’t care, however you feel, means they can’t touch you.

“And don’t worry; there isn’t any set gay personality. You have macho gays, flaming gays, effeminate gays, sporty gays and chatty gays. There are also those who are bi, with no clear preference for either men or women. They love people based on who they are, along with every other possibility. You don’t need to behave in any particular way, or decide for a long time.”

Maryanne returned with the drinks and the conversation ceased. She handed them out, as everyone smiled politely.

“Thank you, Mary,” Paul said, once more shortening her name. “Walt and I are getting along great.”

“Oh ... I hope he’s ... learning something.”

“Pardon me,” Peg said, noting the others’ discomfort, “as I don’t know how else to ask, but ... has anyone died here?”

“That’s an odd question,” Maryanne responded, approaching as Walt and the others whispered in hushed guarded tones, Paul warily observing her. “The house is fairly new, so no other families lived here, but ... my husband, Walt’s father, passed away a couple of years ago. Why do you ask?”