Love is hard. Or as my amigo Carlos used to tell me, “matrimonio es muy duro.” He was talking about marriage, but it’s all the same thing.

I finally got my books down on the table when the library associate asked me for my card. For some reason her nose was turned upward.

“I don’t have it.”

“Without a card, I can’t check out your books.”

“Is that your final answer?”

“Yes.”

I picked up my books from her checkout desk and proceeded to the second floor, to the children and teen sections. The people who work up there are usually more forgiving. Plus it was only five books. A study on day trading, a Spanish bi lingual dictionary, a book by Jack Kerouac called The Lonesome Traveler, a collection of poems by Pablo Neruda, and a novel by Walter Mosley. Surely the ladies upstairs wouldn’t mind letting me have these under my own recognizance. Besides, all patrons are in the system under their own names.

I arrived at the desk not harried, but a little frazzled. The public elevator was out, so families had to lug kids up the stairs with strollers and bags. It was a mess. One day last week a woman slipped and skidded down the last five steps on her rear end. Somehow she managed to keep hold of the baby she was carrying, her shoulder bag, and the children’s books.

I was close enough and reached to help steady her rise, but she said she was fine and didn’t need my help. Even the baby looked at me quizzically.

I plopped my books down in front of the pretty young lady at the desk. I had seen her before. She was pleasant and had helped me once when I left some things in the bathroom. She told me it was okay that time, but not to bring it back or she would have to tell someone. I said okay. I didn’t know who she meant by someone. I didn’t have anything to hide.

She handed it back wrapped in paper towels, along with the lighter I had forgotten next to it. I told her thank you. She touched my hand and said you’re welcome. She looked me in the face. That felt warm but I didn’t let myself think about it too much right then.

“Hi there. Do you have your library card?”

“No.”

“Without a card, I can’t check out your books.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have your driver’s license?”

“I don’t drive.”

“I need some identification.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a crumpled dollar and three pennies, a gum wrapper, and a small key.

“My ID is in the box this key goes to. It’s at my place. It’s just a box of a place, but it’s mine. I can bring it next time. My name is Abel Cain. That’s C A I N, not C A N E like candy cane. Folks always think it’s like candy, but it’s from the Bible. B I B L E. Yep.”

“Okay sir. Let me look in the system.”

She started typing. That’s when I noticed myself staring at her neckline. Soft. Feminine. A string of pearls. I let my eyes move up to her mouth, her nose, the glasses hanging down the bridge of her nose.

“Tu eres muy bonita,” I said to no one in particular.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. I have you here. It says you live at 2009 Hearth Street?”

“I did.”

“Is that still a good address?”

“Yes, but I don’t live there.”

“Would you like me to put your new address?”

“No.”

“May I ask why not?”

“Yes.”

She paused. Exhaled. Touched her chest, then covered her nose like she was holding something in place. I was enjoying the repartee. I didn’t talk to women like her much.

“Why not?” she said, muffled.

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Well fine.” She straightened. “I’ll leave it as is, but your address and the address on your ID must match the next time you renew your card.”

“Okay.” I said. “¿Quieres casarte conmigo?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re good.”

I gathered my books and headed toward the stairs.

“It says here you have thirty seven books checked out already. Do you plan on returning any of them soon?”

I turned back. She had removed her hand from her face. She must be better now.

“Tal vez más tarde,” I said. “Will you be here then?”

“Excuse me?”

“Maybe later.”

On the stairs, a woman and a child were coming up. She must have been an au pair. She was brown. The child was white. I stepped aside.

“Ewww, Ms. Gloria, what is that smell?” the child said.

“Yo no sé,” she said, smiling. “Thank you, sir.”

“De nada señorita. Que tengas un buen día.”

Surprised, she smiled and touched my arm. I let the moment pass and watched them reach the landing. The child stuck their tongue out at me. I smiled and gave it the bird. That felt good.

I took the last few steps slowly. No reason to fall after all that. I made it through the doorway with my bags and books. As I crossed the main lobby past the original checkout desk, my foot snagged. I went down hard. Books and bags scattered.

I wasn’t hurt, but my heart burned with embarrassment. People stood around. No one said anything except the woman at the desk.

Holding her face like the pretty lady upstairs, she said, “Sir… I can’t let you leave without checking out those books.”