The ABCs of XYZ

Todd sniffed near me. "What is that awful smell? Is that you?"

"What? Oh, I've been rubbing Lanacane into my beard. It helps with the itchiness."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but your beard has colors like an animal. A hedgehog or really old marmot. Red and brown..."

"And white, don't forget. Wait, I think that's from the massive amounts of Lanacane."

Karen sailed past. She was giving a tour to the new librarian, Mark. He was a baby-faced youngster with a man-bun. Todd narrowed his eyes, which were above his beard.

"What's his story?"

"Doing three to five," I said. "But has mad storytime skillz."

"Hmmm."

I knew what Todd was thinking, but I tried to keep busy with my beard. Was that a dead cricket?

"I live next door to a closet case," Todd said. "He has a wife, but the dude's as gay as a mylar factory on a mountain of glitter confetti. Another Quinn."

I nodded. Yes. Quinn. He had such a weird name. Anyway, he was our old boss who regularly ignited flaming controversy about his sexuality. Sure, Quinn was a bit odd--he wrote dates with Roman numerals and placed his utensils in the sign of the Illuminati--but he was married to a human female so QED he wasn't gay. Right? But Todd would retort what about the drinkie-poo? What about Cirque du Soleil? What about how thin and neat he was?? And I would retort just because a guy subscribed to Gentleman's Quarterly doesn't make him gay. D-does it?

Mark came by.

"How are you liking Ruby Creek so far?"

"It's fabulous!" Mark said.

As he went off, Todd said, "Okay, he's gay."

"He's married."

"To a woman?"

"Yes."

"WHAT?!?!?" Todd screamed. The scream tied its shoes and ran all around the library. Then it pushed the elevator button, waited, and then screamed up on the second floor.

"Here we go again," I said, turning to the audience.

"Not again," Todd said. "I can't take it. Why do I always have to deal with these secret homos?"

I helped a customer. The old lady whispered to me, "Is everything okay?"

"Just a sexuality crisis with one of the staff."

The old lady made a face. "Again?"

I had an idea. "Look, why don't we call in our two rabbinical scholars, Jonah and Justron. Perhaps they can shed some mitzvah on this whole gefilchzete."

In the back workroom, the two schmendricks were deep in the matzo of the mishrash and the monstermash of the schtalmud.

"Look, don't be a putz. The Law clearly teaches us that Elohim was farfehnagel..."

"Guys? Hello...?"

(One scholar is clearly more rabbinically serious than the other.)

"Hey! Schmucknozzles! Tchotchkes...!"

They had nothing for me. The matter still hung in the air as Todd's scream thumped around upstairs, acoustically humped a pole, and then ran out into the street where it was mistaken for a hawk's cry.

I returned to my desk, only to have Karen rush over. She put her face very close to mine and hoarsely whispered, "You have to do something for me, something only you can do, Greg."

"Make a Wildean remark?" I said with a jaunty tilt of my head.

"You have to tell Mark his fly is open."

"Really?"

"Yes! I'm pretty sure it is. And only you can tell him."

"Great."

I went back to the office where Mark was standing somewhat awkwardly--probably wondering why Karen had suddenly fled from him, and further why a hawk was screaming outside.

"Hey, Mark." I shook his hand, even though I had already done so earlier.

"Hey!"

"So. Yeah. Um... How is everything?"

"Great. It's a beautiful library."

We stared at each other.

"Anyway. Your fly is open."

"Oh!" He zipped up. "Thanks!"

He flushed, and I felt my own sense of judaic shame. Had we violated a Mosaic guzzahe of some sort? Probably! Karen peeped in.

"Okay?" she hoarsed.

"Yes," I said. "He's all yours."

I smiled back at Mark. He gave me a puzzled look.

Welcome to Ruby Creek, Mark! And... I'm sorry.