Spritzing a last puff of hairspray into her hair, Mrs. Langular unplugged the blow dryer with her free hand. She twisted the hair dryer’s electric cord mercilessly around its plastic middle and replaced it in its drawer once its noose was tightened to her satisfaction. She returned the hairspray to its shelf, and swiftly opened a fresh drawer. Her manicured fingers skipped through the carefully sorted drawer until they found their target. Snapping up the package in her manicured claws, Mrs. Langular slammed it down aggressively on the vanity top. Her eyes shifted impatiently between the clock on the wall and her swiftly working fingers. Slipping out a bobby pin, Mrs. Langular seized an escaped strand of hair and forced in into place with a bobby pin. She made a move to stand up, but sat down hard when she realized she’d forgotten to put the pins away. She shuffled the box back into the drawer hastily.


She clicked through the polished floors of the house, tottering dangerously on three-inch heels. She passed room after room of shining surfaces and sharp-angled modern furniture. The rooms looked almost untouched, as if people were too afraid of getting cut by the jagged furniture to go inside.

Near the back of the house, Mrs. Langular pushed open a wooden door to reveal her own bedroom. With papers cluttering every available surface and expensive clothing littering the floor, it was a sharp contrast to the rest of the house. The woman made no move to pick any thing up; no one outside of the family went into this part of the house. Sweeping through papers and discarded jewelry, Mrs. Langular unearthed her car keys and seized her prize in her fist. She exited the room, making sure to close the door tightly behind her.

The clicks of her heels echoing through the house, Mrs. Langular hunted down her children with a steely aggression in her eyes. She had never been late to a PTA meeting before, and today would certainly not be the first. She slid to a stop outside of a brightly lit room, where her three children were clustered around a colorful book. Her gaze softened, and she stepped carefully through the small bedroom.

“Mommy’s off.” She said softly. All three heads turned. “Mrs. Gunderson’s right next door if you need anything. Jefferson, you’re in charge.” She nodded to the biggest of the three boys. Her voice took on a harder edge. “I’ll be at the PTA meeting.”

“Bye, Mommy!” Mrs. Langular bent down, teetering on her heels, and kissed each small head. By the time she was exiting, the attention of the boys’ had turned back towards the book. And her attention had turned back towards her plan.

In her car, Mrs. Langular absentmindedly tapped her nails on the steering wheel as she went over her speech in her mind again. As she slid to a stop at a red light, she reapplied her lipstick and repinned a stray lock of hair. Not a single wrinkle marred her suit; every piece of her hair was in place.

The woman pulled into the school parking lot exactly one minute early. She dabbed at her forehead with a crumpled Kleenex, then forced a steely look back onto her face. She could not fail tonight.

Inside, a few dozen adults clustered on creaky folding chairs. Most were dressed casually in t-shirts and jeans; some even were clutching wriggling children on their laps. Mrs. Langular refused to look any of the adults in the eye; instead she clicked her way to her seat.

The principal of the school struggled to his feet soon after Mrs. Langular was seated. A small, wiry man, Mrs. Langular rarely bothered to even remember his name. He was easy enough to persuade of nearly anything.

The principal cleared his throat and spoke with a small, rough voice that rasped through his throat like sandpaper. “I would like to welcome you all to this Greenwood Elementary School PTA meeting,” He struggled to gain the crowd’s attention through the rhythmic rumble of noise that filled the room. He cleared his throat again. The crowd quieted slowly once they realized the meeting was beginning. “I would like to open the meeting by letting Barbara Langular, our PTA president, speak—“

“Thank you.” She rose. Eyes shifted between her and the principal, and she realized that he hadn’t been done speaking. She shrugged off any possible guilt and continued anyway. “I would like to open with a very important issue.” The principle shuffled back towards his seat. She strode to the middle of the room, and folded her hands neatly in front of her. She looked all around the room and wet her lips before continuing. “We are all here because we care deeply about our children, and we want them to grow up to become great people.” Mrs. Langular chose her words carefully. She kept her voice loud but her words clipped. Hopefully she’d be able to convince them all easily.

“I have compiled a list of books—all of which are at our very own school library!” Her voice rose in passion, but didn’t lose its composure or its mechanical tone. She clawed inside her purse, her fingers closing around a paper. She snatched it up and waved it high above the crowd like a banner. “These books,” her nose wrinkled “can be accessed by our children at any time.” A few people looked around in confusion; one father even looked at his watch. Mrs. Langular desperately tried to regain the crowd’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, I will keep this short. I insist that these books be banned from our school library for the safety of our children.” She cried desperately. Her voice absorbed the quiet of the room. Scrabbling through the belly of her purse once more, she found a stack of papers and passed around lists of the indicted books.

Silence settled as people around the room looked curiously through the list. A few skimmed the list disinterestedly, but most took the time to digest the contents of the paper carefully.

“These books all have one thing in common.” Mrs. Langular said coldly but confidently to the quiet of the room. “They all have elements that will do nothing but desensitize our children. Some will scar our children for life, by showing them things that children are not meant to see and read!” She paused dramatically. Some parents were still reading, but nearly every eye was on her. “Others will not stop there. Some of these books contain unlimited evil that will do nothing but turn them into drug dealers and murderers.”

One parent spoke up. “Doesn’t banning books limit the thought of children?” It was Mr. Locking, a common skeptic at the PTA meetings. He wasn’t challenging Mrs. Langular, she observed, just asking a question.

Mrs. Langular stood up straighter and took the defensive. “Banning books limits thought in the same way that prosecuting criminals limits freedoms.” She said dramatically. A few people whispered to each other at her extreme metaphor. She felt her palms moisten, and she scrubbed them against her dress.

“The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn? That book changed my life!”

Mrs. Langular sought out the complainer, but couldn’t place the voice in the thousands of faces that stared back at her. She felt herself panicking; how was she to know how to respond when she couldn’t see the person, or what their face looked like? How was she to know how far she could push? Her mouth opened, but her mind couldn’t deliver a response.

“Children—“ She began.

“I have a question!” A voice broke out. She found the questioner quick enough. It was Mrs. Green—a red-haired woman who always had one or two children clutching at her hand or wiping their noses on her shirt. Even then she held a sleeping child sprawled in her freckled arms. Mrs. Langular was a little surprised to hear this woman speak; Mrs. Green usually stayed silent at the PTA meetings. She would be easy enough to disprove. Mrs. Langular regained her composure.

Mrs. Green cleared her throat and twisted her arms tighter around her little girl. “Aren’t we trying to make our children individuals?” She looked at the dirty carpet instead of at the people. “If banning books—“

“Individuals all right.” Mrs. Langular spat, finally finding her voice. “If we want our children to grow up to become drug dealers and murderers!” People looked uneasily between Mrs. Green and Mrs. Langular. “If that’s what you mean by individuals.” She challenged Mrs. Green.

Mrs. Green shifted the weight of her sleeping child from one arm to the other. Her face betrayed her uneasiness. “I’m just saying, maybe we should allow children to make their own judgments. If we shield them from the world too much now, how will they protect themselves later on?”

“How, indeed. How can they protect themselves once their morality is eroded and they’ve been desensitized!” Mrs. Langular was beginning to enjoy the looks on the faces of the parents and teachers around her. Some still looked unsure, but most were beginning to look as passionate as she was. All around her, a hush wore down the silence of the room as people whispered their opinions.

A cluster of people near the middle of the room began shouting out their agreement.

“Yes!”

“To protect the children!”

Mrs. Langular fed off the energy of the crowd, and her voice grew even louder and lost some of its mechanical edge. “Those of you who wish you corrupt your children,” She looked pointedly at Mrs. Green. “Do it on your own.” She said coldly. The excitement of the room swelled, and people nodded their agreement wordlessly. A few even shouted out. She continued once the room was silent again. “I’m going to protect mine. And I hope the rest of you will follow me.”

She folded her arms slowly, taking her time. She now had the room’s full attention, and she savored the power she felt in her words. “I want my children to live in a world where they shall not be dirtied by the content of books. Schools should be a safe zone, a place free of darkness and evil.” Mrs. Langular spoke carefully, punching every syllable with her tongue. “Books should be a place where children can escape. Not something that can contaminate! We send our kids to school to learn how to read and write, not to pollute their minds with offensive language and inappropriate behavior! These things need to be limited and controlled! I care about children, and I want them all to be free to be children!”

Her heart pounding with adrenaline, Mrs. Langular sat down stiffly on her creaking chair. She smoothed down her perfectly crisp suit, and coaxed her fluttering heart back down to a rhythmic beat.

The principal passed around slips of paper to vote on the book ban. The room echoed with the sound of scratching pencils long after the votes had been collected.

The rest of the meeting dragged on slowly, and Mrs. Langular didn’t pay attention. Instead she replayed her speech in her head while anxiously repinning her hair. She took out and replaced bobby pins with manicured fingers, stabbing her stiff hairdo mercilessly.

At the end of the meeting, the principal tottered up to the center of the room. Mrs. Langular picked at a sharp fingernail while watching Mrs. Green out of the corner of her eye.

He cleared his throat loudly, choking harshly on air. The teachers and parents of the room waited impatiently. “The book ban has been enacted by majority vote.” He coughed out in his raspy voice. An interested rumble filled the room, but Mrs. Langular could only sit. She sat up straighter and stared straight ahead. Pride swelled her chest; her plan had succeeded.

“Thank you, ma’am.” An older woman leaned across the aisle to thank her. Mrs. Langular waved away the thanks, but the woman shook her head. “I can tell you really care about children. Your speech—“ the woman clasped a wrinkled hand to her heart.

Parents and teachers filed out hurriedly, home to their lives. Mrs. Langular clicked through the hallways triumphantly, nodding her thanks at congratulations from other parents. She didn’t stop to blather politely like she sometimes did. Her kids had been alone long enough, and she needed to fix dinner for them and for her husband, who would be getting home later. She was dying to tell him of her accomplishment anyway.

She exited through the main doors into the dying sunlight. She’d wait until he sat down to dinner, then she could have his full attention, and that of the kids too—

Mrs. Langular halted her steps, nearly stumbling over her towering shoes. Her eyes stared towards two people sitting a few yards down from where she was. The figures sat in the dried mud of the gutter, hunched over and covered in shadow. A young mother, her dark eyes nearly hidden by her cascading hair, was the first that Mrs. Langular noticed. In her hands she desperately clutched a can. As a car passed, she tossed her hands in the air, offering the can eagerly to the car. The car slowed down to toss a few coins in the direction of the woman, but didn’t stop and the coins landed in a puddle in the street. The woman lurched forward to reach them, but before she could the person beside her leaped up excitedly. It was a small boy, not much older than Mrs. Langular’s youngest son. He plunged his hands into the dark puddle, fishing out the coins. He turned eagerly towards his mother, the coins cradled in his hands, and she offered him a small, sad smile.

Mrs. Langular wrinkled her nose and turned away from the pair. She’d walk through the back doors instead. She clicked her way back in the direction of the school, turning her mind back towards her victory.