Crossing Over
April 4, 2008
This morning I was crossing the street at a busy intersection by an elementary school in my neighborhood. Across the street from me stood a school crossing guard, a sixty-something year old woman decked out in official “guard gear”, bundled in layers despite sunny, fifty degree temperatures. Crossing guards and homeless people never seem to dress appropriately for the seasons.
Anyway, I’m at the corner confronted with a potentially combustible combination; no traffic, an illuminated solid red “Don’t Walk” hand with an irascible crossing guard stationed just beneath. The scene played out like a classic gun fight in the old west. Only, rather than a ten gallon cowboy hat she was wearing the standard crossing guard headgear; that weird boxy thing peculiar to crossing guards and pre-1970’s nurses.
Our eyes locked. Hers squinted slightly, suggesting “I wouldn’t if I were you”. I stared back, first at her, then at the “Don’t Walk” sign, a quick glance at her white sash and badge, then back at her. I could feel my heart rate increasing and my blood pumping through my veins. I felt alive.
It was now or never; I made my move. My confident gait propelled me through the crosswalk, toward her, as if in slow motion like the cliched shot in every action movie. Chin up and jaw squared, I strutted defiantly, dismissing everything she believed in, the very tenets she had built her adult life upon. A life of rules. A life of structure and discipline. A life of crossing at the green and not in between.
I could feel her icy stare piercing through me but somehow it felt good. A voice reassured me with every step, “You’re a grown man. You’ve been crossing streets by yourself for close to thirty years. You don’t need anyone’s help or permission. You can probably buy one of those badges at a 99 cent store.”
As I arrived at her corner she looked at me with all the contempt and disdain she could muster. The trace of a smile came across my lips. She shook her head disapprovingly. I could almost hear her say “This isn’t over. We’ll meet again.”
“I hope we do.” I continued past, a dizzying mix of adrenaline and pride welling inside of me.
“I hope we do.”
Comments
One Response to “Crossing Over”
Got something to say?
This slice of life is one of the reasons I admire Ted so much. One line in particular brought me a little special joy;
” the very tenets she had built her adult life upon.”