I was drowsing in a stuffy old armchair beside my window when I hear a sharp crack, as if something had grabbed onto either side of reality and ripped it apart.
My eyes popped open. I looked up.
There, smiling down at me through large round eye glasses, stood a luminescent figure of indeterminate age. A fringe of silver hair fluttered around a cherubic face and an enormous bowtie festooned with punctuation marks sprung like the wings of a butterfly from either side of his chin.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice as gentle as the sound talcum powder makes when sprinkled on our toes.
“Who …What …?”
He wiggled his fingers as though limbering them up to play the piano and announced, “I am your Fairy God Librarian.”
I have wanted many things in life, some of which I don’t deserve, but never on that list had I put a Fairy God Librarian. I crossed my arms over my chest and harrumphed skeptically, “Next you’ll be telling me that I get three wishes.”
“Not three,” He said thoughtfully. “Just one.” Then he turned toward the bookshelves lining my wall. “It is a special kind of a wish. Very, very special. Because you get to make a wish-list of books!”