The People in My Neighborhood

Almost everyday during the school year, I pass a crossing guard on the way to work. And if she's not concentrating on ushering kids across the street, we exchange perfunctory "good mornings". "Have a good day!" she'll add. This has been going on for four years. Being somewhat cold and awkward with strangers, I went through a brief period when I wished I didn't have to speak to the woman. Sometimes I'll turn my head away as if I'm looking for oncoming traffic so I won't have to risk doing any small talk. But often I'm glad she's there. We don't know each other's names. All I know is "good morning." All I see is a woman who's sweet and caring with every sleepy brat who crosses her path, and every commuting parent rushing to dump their kid off before they'll be late for work. She's friendly with the drivers, the teachers, and the other uniformed city workers that hang out in front of the school. Every day, for way more than four years.

A bit further down the street beneath an awning stands no one. The doorman used to be there. Slim, shoes too thin and shiny, mustache. "Have a good day, dear." He said he was working hard so that he could be a rich man...and he'd give all his money to me. Right. I never liked the looks of him. His "dear" made me cringe. His blessings were most unholy. I considered changing my route to work to avoid him, but I thought, I have every right to walk down my street without engaging in conversation with this creep. And he was there every day, school days, summer, everyday. But now he's gone. And I'll never know what happened to him. Maybe he finally struck it rich with doorman's wages.