What to Do About Chyna

I first noticed kids in the Information Commons early in the morning, but I didn't really give it a second thought. Lots of our graduate students bring their kids with them while they are working on papers and research and such. They were still there after lunch, but I was closeted in my office and not paying any attention. When I came on desk for the evening shift, they were still there, and I asked the Librarian going off duty about them.

"O, yeah. They get scooting around in the chairs from time to time, or arguing with each other and I yell at them. Not a big deal." was the reply. I am not so sure. I settle down and log in and begin the unending task of weeding email when I hear loud arguing. I look up. There are three young girls, around second or third grade age, and a young boy slightly older. I don't see any parent around, but I hesitate to interfere.

I catch the eye of one of the girls, and she glares at me with blatant hostility, as if daring me to say anything. I stay out of it and things settle down. A few minutes later, there is another argument with kids moving about and fussing with each other. I glance about. There are adults trying to work. They are looking up, obviously disturbed by the noise. I sigh.

I approach the kids and tell them as nicely as I can that if they are going to be in the Library, they will have to be quiet. Immediately, a girl in her maybe twenties jumps up from one of the computers, and orders the kids to leave with her. I feel horrible. But relieved. Where has this person in charge been all day? At least it will be quiet now.

But I am wrong. Ten minutes later they all troup back in and settle at computers again. It is barely five minutes before the same girl raises a ruckus. I look for the older girl to intervene, but she ignores them. This is not good. The younger girls are openly challenging me to order them out. Think. Think. Try to find a way to see what is going on here.

I approach one of the girls who is not as glaring as the others and ask her name. India. Her friend is Myasia. I ask her what they are working on. She looks at me as if I have lost my mind and answers, "the computers." Dead end. I ask if they are from around here and the story begins to take shape. The girls live with their Grandmother in a nearby apartment complex. I know the one. I used to live there and it is a terrible place.

I make a mental note. No parents. I ask why they came to the library, and they admit without realizing it that they wanted to be in an air conditioned place and we are within walking distance. Besides, I heard the older girl mention that the Grandmother was in a bad way and they were trying to stay out of reach. I suspect we are talking about physical abuse.

The youngest girl says she is starving. I ask when they ate last. Breakfast. It is now 7 pm. I suggest they should go home and get something to eat. They tell me they have money and are going to leave soon to get candy bars and soda. One girl named Chyna, the one who has been glaring the most angrily, proudly pulls five pennies from her pocket.

I am now in turmoil. Should I feed this stray? Am I getting in over my head? Why doesn't the girl in her twenties take care of them? How did this get on my plate? But there is no help for it. I cannot turn my back on this kind of need. I ask them if they would like to watch a movie in our media room and they jump at the chance. We don't have many kids movies, but I select one and set them up. They squeal with delight. After I switch the language from Spanish to English, I step out and close the door, heading for my office.

I rummage around and locate a half package of cookies and a box of crackers left over from earlier events. I ask the older girl if it would be OK to give them some snacks. She grabs greedily at the food herself, as does the boy who is not interested in the video. I take the food to the media room and within minutes of returning to the reference desk, they are there with the empty - the licked clean - wrappers, asking if I have anything else they can eat. I shake my head.

They demand to know if I ate the missing food by myself, and I assure them that others helped eat what was already consumed, but they can't get past the idea that somehow I got to eat all that food. They take my friendliness as a queue to get cozy, pulling open drawers and begging to have silly things that they discover inside, pieces of paper and bookmarks and such.

The more they glom onto me, the worse I feel. They think I am a fairy godmother. I see their huge need and know there is no way I can begin to address it. What am I going to do now? They gleefully tell me they will be back tomorrow for more cookies. I am sure they will be. OK. I am going to need some help. I will consult with my fellow librarians, a few pastors and counselors this weekend. They will be back, these girls. They need help. I cannot turn them away. That would be criminal.

But I also can't throw wide the doors of the library on their say so and let them run rampant. I will find a solution. It will take some work, but I must find a way to help them and encourage them without destroying anything in the process. Lord help me, and I suspect He will.

Somehow, Chyna's eyes haunt me for the rest of the evening. They will not let me go. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe.