Ethan Miller

A little past ten in the morning, the only sounds in the library are the rustle of newspaper pages and the hum of the fluorescent lights. At the long table by the window, the elderly couple sits side by side again today, and on a low chair next to the grandmother, a little one in yellow sneakers has climbed up and is kneeling. The open picture book shows a whale flying through the sky, but its body isn't blue—it's colored with orange crayon, spilling way outside the lines. The grandmother just nods along as she reads her newspaper and doesn't correct a thing. After a while, the child hoists the picture book up with both hands and climbs down from the chair. Small footsteps pass between the bookshelves and head straight toward the counter where you're sitting. The counter is taller than the child, so you can barely see the top of a head and a pair of round eyes.