“Ahhhhh!” he nearly screamed, then bolted for the bathroom before his bladder burst.
When he returned, still overheated, but slightly less crazed, his mother was just finishing buttoning up her coat. Without another word, he followed her down the three flights of stairs into the cold.
Jesse liked the city at night. He liked the lights everywhere, different colors and shapes that bounced off the low-hanging clouds and made the city look like a fun house. He especially liked a night like this one, when the snow was drifting down in big fat flakes, that you could catch on your tongue and feel melt into droplets of rust-flavored water.
Jesse’s mother walked briskly toward the subway stop three blocks away. Jesse darted around her, pretending he was a frost monster, powered by snow, running at the icy flakes, snapping at them with his mouth until his mother told him sharply, to stop it before he hurt himself.
Then he trotted along beside her, subdued but still happy, because they were finally going to the library and the city was all lit up and there were people everywhere, and surely that meant Pink Poodle would still be hunched over a computer in the Boston Public Library, because it was that kind of night. Cold and busy and bustling.
Zombie Bear’s bandaged head poked out of his pocket, the undead homerun hitter along for the ride.
It took forever to finally reach the main branch of the Boston Public Library, on Boylston Street. Technically it was two buildings; the historic McKim Building and the newer Johnson Building. Jesse loved the 160-year-old McKim Building, with its massive stone arches and ornate carvings and the kind of long, shadowed halls that hinted of ghosts and gargoyles. The McKim had mostly the research stuff, however—government documents, historic papers. Jesse and his mom headed for the Johnson Building instead. It was built in the seventies and, according to his mom, looked it. Jesse didn’t much care for the outside, but the inside was pretty cool. It had a special kids’ area, even a teen room.
Maybe he would need to visit the teen room. Maybe, that’s where Pinky Poo hung out. Jesse hadn’t thought of that.
He fingered Zombie Bear. Told himself he wasn’t nervous. Grabbed his mom’s hand and trotted up the steps.
In the lobby, his mother laid out the plan. She had some nursing homework to do. She walked him to the section she needed, showed him exactly where she would be. He was allowed to go to the kids’ section. He could pick some books, then he was to return right here, where he could look at his books while she finished her project. He could write up his homework, too. Then, they’d go to dinner.
Jesse nodded solemnly. They had been coming to the library since he was a baby. He knew the drill.
He kissed his mom. Maybe hugged her harder than he usually did. Then he headed down the stairs to the first-floor children’s room.
JESSE KNEW THE LIBRARY WELL. Sometimes, on rainy days, his mother would bring him here to “explore,” her library-speak for going someplace free where a young boy could run around without old Mrs. Flowers yelling about stampeding elephants.
When Jesse had turned six, he and his mother had first started separating. Partly because she’d gone to school and she had her own work to do, but also because Jesse had noticed other kids in the library without hovering moms, and decided he no longer wanted to be embarrassed by his. At first, his mother had waited outside the section. Then, bit by bit, they’d gone their separate ways.