Through my rain splattered windshield I see the CLOSED sign posted by the front door. That’s not right, I think, looking down at my watch that reads a quarter after ten.
“You want to wait?” I ask I. who seems content to do just that from the warmth of the backseat as I run into the library to return books. He nods that he does and I jump out of the car and sprint up the front steps to dodge the rain.
Through the clear glass doors, I see the lights and people browsing through the shelves. The library is clearly open.
Pulling back the front door, I step in and unhook the sign and flip the five-foot, vinyl sign to OPEN.
“Oh, good, fixing the sign,” says a passing mom entering through the front door with her little girl and an armful of books.
I drop our books at the returns desk, turn and dash back to the car and my waiting fourth grader.
When I tell him about the sign flipping he tenses up. “Are you supposed to do that?” my by-the-book kid asks.
I tell him I was helping but he’s not buying it. “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that,” he repeats, clearly not impressed with my quick thinking or act of random kindness.