Ice Queen
My own subhumanity still manages to amaze me.
This evening, while trudging to the grocery store after nine long hours of work and classes, I saw a sobbing four-year-old boy walking right towards the road with no parents in sight. I started after him, but then hesitated, thinking of the contact solution I had to buy and the mile I had to walk home. I waited for someone more responsible to take charge. I waited for God to give me a sign.
Then I realized I was the only person who even noticed this kid. I knew what God wanted me to do. If I didn't stand in the road with my arms out, the next person to notice the child would be the driver who ran over him. Grudgingly, I followed the kid, asking for his name and where he was going, but receiving no response. Who would respond to someone as intimidating and hostile as I?
Another, better woman, a motherly woman who compliments everyone and stays up late because her friends need to talk and fixes her hair every day so no one will be assulted by her horrifying visage, would have turned that kid right around, he melting like putty into her warm, cinnamon-scented arms, and marched him back into the store. I am not one of those women. Not only am I not sure I'm a woman, I'm not really sure I'm human. It took me four blocks of following this kid and halting the cars he wandered in front of to get him to stop. Even then, I was cold and businesslike as I called 9-1-1.
I just wanted contact solution. I just wanted to go home to the bed I had left 12 hours before. I just wanted someone older and kinder and more kid-friendly to swoop in and save the day. But no one came (except the police). Today I'm not sure I like being on my own: I need someone caring to save me from freezing to death.
I guess I can do the right thing and still be wrong inside.
This evening, while trudging to the grocery store after nine long hours of work and classes, I saw a sobbing four-year-old boy walking right towards the road with no parents in sight. I started after him, but then hesitated, thinking of the contact solution I had to buy and the mile I had to walk home. I waited for someone more responsible to take charge. I waited for God to give me a sign.
Then I realized I was the only person who even noticed this kid. I knew what God wanted me to do. If I didn't stand in the road with my arms out, the next person to notice the child would be the driver who ran over him. Grudgingly, I followed the kid, asking for his name and where he was going, but receiving no response. Who would respond to someone as intimidating and hostile as I?
Another, better woman, a motherly woman who compliments everyone and stays up late because her friends need to talk and fixes her hair every day so no one will be assulted by her horrifying visage, would have turned that kid right around, he melting like putty into her warm, cinnamon-scented arms, and marched him back into the store. I am not one of those women. Not only am I not sure I'm a woman, I'm not really sure I'm human. It took me four blocks of following this kid and halting the cars he wandered in front of to get him to stop. Even then, I was cold and businesslike as I called 9-1-1.
I just wanted contact solution. I just wanted to go home to the bed I had left 12 hours before. I just wanted someone older and kinder and more kid-friendly to swoop in and save the day. But no one came (except the police). Today I'm not sure I like being on my own: I need someone caring to save me from freezing to death.
I guess I can do the right thing and still be wrong inside.
posted by Bethylene at 23:48
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