The Lost Boy of the Grand Alexandria

IT WAS ONE OF THE MOST BIZARRE WORKDAYS OF MY LIFE, AND TRUST ME, AS A LIBRARIAN AT THE GRAND ALEXANDRIA, I’VE SEEN SOME “STUFF.” So, the library opens, my colleague and I complete the usual morning routines, and all seems in order. Then, as I head back towards the main desk, I walk past the restroom and hear this odd noise—like a faint chirping? Immediately, I think, “Has someone brought a bird into the library?”

I tap on the restroom door, expecting a patron to respond, but there’s no answer. Intrigued and a little anxious, I gently open the door and nearly recoil in surprise. No bird. Instead, a small boy is curled up on the floor, weeping silently. I kneel down, trying to keep my voice steady, and say, “Hey there, buddy, you gave me a fright! I’m Eleanor. What’s your name?”

Through his watery eyes, he whispers, “Ben.”

I help him to his feet and guide him to a quiet corner near the periodicals while I try to figure out where he belongs. But here’s the baffling thing: there’s no “Ben” on today’s visitor logs. Not a single one. My mind starts racing. “Ben, where are your parents? Are you lost?” He doesn’t answer, just clutches this crumpled paper bag as if it were his only possession.

Trying to stay composed, I ask, “Alright, Ben. Take a breath. What’s in the bag?”Trying to stay composed, I ask, “Alright, Ben. Take a breath. What’s in the bag?”

He sniffles, then slowly untwists the top of the crumpled brown paper bag. He reaches inside and pulls out… a drawing. It’s on a piece of slightly wrinkled paper, clearly done in crayon. A vibrant, if a little shaky, picture of a creature with large, green scales, big yellow eyes, and what looks like feathery wings. It’s undeniably a dragon.

“Wow,” I say, genuinely impressed, “That’s an amazing dragon, Ben. Did you draw that?”

He nods, still clutching the picture tightly.

“He’s… he’s lost,” Ben whispers, his voice thick with unshed tears.

“Your dragon is lost?” I ask gently, a little confused.

He shakes his head. “No. Him.” He points to the dragon in the picture. “My… my… ” He trails off, his lower lip trembling again.

My colleague, David, approaches, sensing something is amiss. He takes in the scene – Ben, the crumpled bag, the drawing – and gives me a questioning look. I subtly shake my head, indicating I’m handling it but need a moment.

“Ben,” I say, softening my voice, “Is ‘him’ someone you know? Is he lost here in the library?”

He nods again, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. He’s still looking at the dragon, as if drawing strength from it.

“Okay,” I say, thinking fast. “We can help find him. Librarians are excellent finders of lost things. Tell me about ‘him’. What does he look like? What’s his name?”

Ben finally looks up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear. “He’s… big,” he whispers. “And… and… he has glasses.”

Glasses? Big and has glasses? This is getting even more peculiar. “Glasses?” I repeat, trying to make sense of it. “Like… reading glasses?”

Ben nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! Big ones! Like… like…” He struggles to find the words.

“Like mine?” I offer, pointing to my own librarian-esque spectacles.

He studies my glasses intently, then nods again. “Yeah! Bigger, but… yeah!”

David, who has been quietly observing, leans in slightly. “And who is ‘he’, Ben? Is he your dad? Your grandpa?”

Ben shakes his head. “No. He’s… Mr. Mr. Whispers.”

Mr. Whispers? That doesn’t ring any bells. I rack my brain. We don’t have any staff members named Whispers. And none of our regular patrons come to mind with that name. Unless…

“Ben,” I ask slowly, a new thought forming, “Is Mr. Whispers… a character in a book?”

Ben’s eyes widen. He looks at me with surprise, then a dawning of understanding. He nods, a bigger nod this time, almost bouncing. “Yes! He’s in… in… ‘The Dragon Who Lost His Fire’!” He points excitedly to the drawing in his hand. “That’s him!”

Relief washes over me, mixed with a healthy dose of self-reproach for jumping to such dramatic conclusions. Of course. A child, a drawing, a lost character. It all clicks into place. He’s lost in the library, but not in the way I initially feared. He’s lost in a book.

“Oh, Ben,” I say, smiling now. “Mr. Whispers is lost in ‘The Dragon Who Lost His Fire’? That’s a very sad story.”

He nods solemnly. “He can’t find his fire. And… and Papa was reading it to me, and then… then Papa went away.” His voice cracks again.

“Papa went away?” I ask gently. “Is Papa here at the library?”

He shakes his head, tears welling up again. “No. He… he went to get… get…” He struggles to say the word.

“Coffee?” David suggests softly. “Did Papa go to get coffee?”

Ben nods, his shoulders slumping. “Coffee. And… and he said… said he’d be right back. But he’s not back.”

Ah. Now it all makes sense. The chirping sound was Ben trying to be quiet while he cried. The restroom was probably the first semi-private place he found when he realized his father was gone. The crumpled bag probably held the book and the drawing he was working on while his father read. And the ‘no visitor log’ – perhaps his father had just popped in quickly, intending to register later, or was already a member and didn’t need to re-register that morning.

“Ben,” I say reassuringly, “Your Papa probably just went to the library café to get coffee. Sometimes it takes a little longer if there’s a line. Let’s go check, okay?”

He looks up at me, hope flickering in his eyes. He nods again, clutching his dragon drawing and the crumpled bag. I take his small hand in mine, and David and I guide him out of the periodicals section and towards the library café.

As we walk, I ask him more about Mr. Whispers and ‘The Dragon Who Lost His Fire’. He starts to talk, his voice gaining strength as he describes the dragon’s plight and his father’s dramatic reading voice. He even manages a small smile when he talks about Mr. Whispers’ big glasses.

We reach the café, and I scan the tables. And there he is. A man with a familiar shock of brown hair, sitting at a corner table, looking slightly frantic, with two steaming cups of coffee in front of him. He’s clearly been searching.

“Papa!” Ben cries out, pulling away from me and running towards the table.

The man looks up, his face lighting up with relief as he sees Ben. “Ben! Oh, Ben! Where did you go?” He rushes to meet him, scooping him up in a hug.

“I… I was reading about Mr. Whispers,” Ben mumbles into his father’s shoulder.

The father looks up at me and David, a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment on his face. “Thank you so much,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I… I just stepped away for a moment to get coffee, and when I came back, he was gone. I was terrified.”

“He was just a little lost himself,” I say with a smile, gesturing to the drawing still clutched in Ben’s hand. “Lost in a good book.”

The father chuckles, relief washing over him in waves. “He certainly is. He loves that dragon.” He looks at Ben, still hugging him tightly. “Thank you again. You’re… you’re lifesavers.”

“We’re librarians,” David says with a grin. “Finding lost things is kind of our specialty.”

We leave them to their reunion, Ben happily showing his father his dragon drawing and probably recounting his restroom adventure. Back at the main desk, I lean against the counter, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Well,” David says, shaking his head and chuckling. “That was… something. Definitely more exciting than re-shelving Dewey Decimal 500s.”

“Tell me about it,” I reply, smiling. “Another bizarre workday at the Grand Alexandria. But you know what? Sometimes, finding a lost boy who’s lost in a book… that’s the best kind of ‘stuff’ a librarian can see.” And as I straightened my glasses and returned to the quiet hum of the library, I knew, despite the initial fright, it was a workday I wouldn’t soon forget.