Tuesday, November 20, 2012

The Crossing Guard

Seen waiting for the Red Line to Howard at about 8:30 a.m.

The old crossing guard took her job seriously, as evidenced by the pride with which she wore her military-style cap and her neon yellow vest. She was not a mother, but she considered every child she helped to be her own. She loved the little ones who smiled their gap-tooth smiles and waved at her. She loved the sulky teenagers who knocked into her with their backpacks and laughed at her. She always carried a bag of apples, red and green. It grew heavier each year—one apple for every child who died during her watch. She had been a crossing guard for a long time.

A short one today. I should have done grad school work last night, but I made the mistake of reading A Storm of Swords while I ate dinner. I ended up reading until 1 a.m. Oops. You'd think by now I'd know to keep myself away from literature when I'm trying to do work, but apparently not.

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