Lost in the Stacks

From behind the bookshelves, the sound of crying slowly grew louder. A man spoke reassuringly, "Don't worry, we'll take a walk and find your mom."

Shuffling out into the aisle, the boy, barely more than a toddler, clutched the security officer's hand and whimpered. His shoelaces, nearly untied, flopped forward with each timid step of his cartoon sneakers. Spongebob's smiling face had never seemed so out of place. The boy wore a backpack over his winter jacket, his right hand with its crumpled tissue barely hanging out of the still too big hand-me-down coat.

The officer walked slowly, bending to the side so that he could hold the four-year-olds hand as they searched. Eyes moving around the room, he looked for a woman with a distracted, worried expression, one that would jump to attention at the sound of her son's familiar cry. He looked for a sibling, warily accustomed to the way their younger brother wanders off.

"Now I have to tell you. I've never failed to find a lost mom. They just can't hide from me, son," the officer said.

There's plenty of nooks and crannies in the library, quiet areas with comfortable chairs for reading, computer rooms, bathrooms, adult books, children's books and a huge video room. The officer considers the most likely places that the mother might have gone to as they shuffle down the hall.

"Now I need you to take me to where you were when you realized your mom was gone, ok? And I need you to help me look for her, because you know her better than I do, sound like a plan?"

The boy nods as he trys to stops crying, gasping for breath the way kids do when they've been sobbing for a while. "I was on the computer. . ." he manages before breaking into another wail.

The officer, uniform pressed crisply and tucked in properly, doesn't miss a beat as he sweeps the child up into his arms. "It'll be ok, Ben. We'll find her, I promise."