The Stacks

Three boys on cross country bikes pedaled to the entrance of the Frederick Douglass Library. School had ended less than an hour ago.

I approached on foot. The man in the security uniform said "Hello," as I passed by him.

A boy of about eight with closely cropped hair, khaki pants and a long-sleeved shirt was just ahead of me. I watched him as he pulled on the metal handle of the right entrance door. First one hand and then both hands. When it wouldn't open, he pulled on the metal handle of the left door, and managed to open it just enough for his slender body to pass through the slot he had created with his own strength. He slipped in, the door shut, I opened it again and walked in.

I was greeted with a friendly, "Hello," by a staff member. A couple of children were on computers in a space marked Quiet Area. I looked above the stacks of books for a section labeled Biography where I hoped to find Ella Baker and the Black Freedom Movement. I walked from one row of stacks until the every end of the stacks past 12 rows. I did not see the Biography section.

What I did see was the same boy who had squeaked through the entrance doors just ahead of me. He saw me, too. He was standing just like I was in the space between two rows on the opposite end from me. Our heads were looking down the aisle. He was looking left, I was looking right and our eyes met. We turned and started walking in the same direction at opposite ends of the stacks.

At the aisle between each set of stacks, we turned our heads to look at each other. I could feel the synchronized energy of our matching pace as we walked. By the time we had passed our third row, we were smiling at each other. This continued on through all of the rows:

Look, smile, walk.

Look, smile walk.

The looking, smiling and walking were all happening at the same time for me and I guessed for him as well.

It was our own little spontaneous friendly game. It was delightful. My heart swelled.

The librarian walked me to the Biography section and I found my book. As I left, I looked for the little boy who was now sitting at a table with Legos, happily building something.