6 - Pages of Sin

name on one, peeled it off, and slapped it on my jacket. “We’re doing name tags.”
    “Good idea,” Celeste said, and filled out tags for both of them. Then they perused the box of books for a few minutes while I checked my watch and wondered where everyone was.
    “These look ratty enough,” Trudy said, grinning as she held up two faded classics. She looked around the room, then said, “Can we sit anywhere?”
    I smiled. “Sure.”
    Within twenty minutes, every student who’d signed up had arrived, including Robin, and my worries about having an empty classroom were over. There was the usual chattering while each chose a damaged book from the box and filled out a name tag.
    Once everyone found seats, got comfortable, and introduced themselves to their neighbors, I moved out from behind the front table and waited as they grew quiet and attentive. I caught Robin’s gaze and smiled—and was abruptly hit with a wave of nervousness. I had to take a few quick breaths to calm down.
    I’d never been nervous in front of a class before, so I blamed it on Robin’s presence. I decided I’d better avoid eye contact with her; otherwise I’d flub up everything and sound like a knucklehead.
    “Let’s get started,” I said, then reintroduced myself and gave them an abbreviated version of my background in bookbinding. “Now, I know everybody hates this part of any class, but let’s take ten minutes and go around the room so each of you can tell us your name and briefly share what you hope to get out of the class.”
    “That’s thirty seconds for each person,” an intense young fellow named James said, flashing a warning glance at his fellow attendees.
    There were some mutterings and eye rolls aimed at James, but the introductions went smoothly and quickly. The eight librarians knew one another and all worked for the county. I asked if any of them worked in archives or preservation and thankfully, none of them did. Those archival people were an intimidating bunch who often thought they knew a lot more about book restoration than I did.
    The last two attendees to introduce themselves were a retired couple named Sam and Rita. They had been holding hands during the other intros and now that it was their turn to talk, they laughed and giggled and patted each other’s hands as they finished each other’s sentences.
    “We’re taking the class because we’re fledgling book collectors,” Rita said.
    “Yeah,” Sam piped up. “We want to keep our books in good condition so we’re hoping to get some ideas here.”
    “I promise you’ll get lots of great tips,” I assured them, then asked the question everyone else was probably wondering, too. “Are you two newlyweds?”
    Sam grinned. “I guess it’s obvious, huh?”
    “I guess.” Rita blushed as she nudged Sam with her elbow. “We were recently married after meeting up at our fiftieth high school reunion.”
    “Ooh, how romantic!” Trudy cried, as everyone in the room applauded and congratulated them.
    The cheers died down and I moved on to the first exciting topic of the evening: a brief primer on glue.
    Holding up a small, familiar looking white plastic bottle, I said, “PVA glue, or polyvinyl acetate, is a book lover’s best friend. It’s sold almost everywhere. But beware, all white glue is not created equal. Be sure to look for the words ‘acid free’ on the label. That means it’s a certified pH-neutral adhesive.”
    “Say what?” Sam said.
    I smiled. “That’s a fancy way of saying that it won’t damage the paper in a book or cause it to turn yellow.”
    Rather than try to describe the damage the wrong glue could cause, I passed around a book ravaged by a well-known adhesive that came in a tape dispenser. Wherever the tape had been used to repair tears, the paper underneath was stained a dirty, dark yellow. “That’s what happens if your adhesive isn’t pH neutral.”
    “Gross,” said James, who’d announced earlier that he was a graduate student in engineering.
    Next, I explained a few of the items I’d laid out at each of their places. “Along with PVA, these are the miracle tools of quick and dirty book repair. Most of them can probably be found in your kitchen.”
    “Cool,” Trudy whispered.
    I held up each one as I mentioned it. “Wax paper. You’ll need a few sheets to do most repairs. Next, a couple of thin bamboo skewers, the kind used for grilling veggies or kabobs. You can buy them at the supermarket in packets