watching over you

Written by Cathoel Jorss, published 11 years ago

I saw a boy cross the road with his little sister. At the curb he made her stop and made her take his hand. I guess she was three; I guess he was four. He looked both ways. A car approaching slowly from two intersections north made him wait, and hold her back. His caution and sense of responsibility glimmered on him like sunlight. They waited and waited. The little girl sagged her head and dreamed, her brother stood alert and concentrating fiercely. The car went past, he lifted his foot, a second car poked its nose around from a side street. He waited again. I stood as casually as possible a few paces away, three times the size of the little steward, not wanting to injure his pride by letting him know I was waiting for them to be safe. I imagined the parent who had sent them on this errand perhaps watching from an upper window too. The corner shop stood up three stone steps on the opposite corner, its plastic flystrips beckoning. At last when the street was empty and still it was safe, according to the big brother’s judgement; they set out.