Little Dove

The library was my happy place as a kid. To this day, I adore the smell of paperback books and the tapping sound a plastic mat makes against industrial carpet as someone walks over it. I still find comfort in seeing stacks and stacks of books, and I adore the blissful hush among all the words, ideas, and text. 

A few days ago, I was at the library with the kids I nanny. I was explaining to the three year old that while yes, he loves dinosaurs, he probably wouldn't enjoy the picture-less encyclopedia-like book about them, much less be able to pick it up. I was growing exasperated and took a seat on the floor to try and explain everything to him, again.

A little girl with a Mrs. Wallace haircut (I very much prefer this term) came up to me and said with equal parts terror and neccessary confidence,

     "Hi, my name is _______. I'm in the first grade and today was my second day of school. I just moved here. Can you please help me find books about geese? I saw some today and I want to read about them."

My heart went out to her instantly, I was the terrified little girl who had to force herself to speak in these situations. I immediately re-shelved the heavy dinosaur book into it's proper place, stood up and said,

     "Hi! Welcome! I'm sure I can find you something, let me look!"

I walked over to the adjacent shelf and started combing through all the bird books. The little girl looked up at me,

     "Are you a librarian?"

     "Nope, but I love libraries and I'm happy to help!"

I hope she was smiling under her mask, I knew I was. I finally found a bird anthology and flipped to the section on geese. 

     "Page 215 shows three types of geese."

The girl picked up the heavy book. 

     "I can't wait to read this!"

     "Great! Let me see if there's anything else."

I scanned the shelf and found one small book about Canada geese. I handed it to the girl who said,

     "Thanks," before walking away.


I realized that I never introduced myself, never gave the little girl my name. It's crazy that any time I have to speak, any time at all, it still- still- fills me with terror. 

I realized that maybe I wasn't looking into some type of timeloop, so much as I was looking into a mirror.

I realized that libraries, with their polypropylene rugs and perfectly organized shelves, can still be a safe haven for the scared little kids, or those of us who, in a lot of ways, are still scared little kids.

I realized that a chance encounter can go on to have much bigger meanings...and I really hope that girl enjoyed her books.

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