Tolstoy

The three of us sat in the front seat of an off-road vehicle to Cape Mount a few weeks ago. V manned the radio while I found myself happily feeding bites of flatbread to J as she drove in the dark. At one point, J mashed "chick" with "duckling" to describe how she felt.

Yesterday, I had another chickling encounter as I stood on Tubman Blvd, looking for a gap in traffic. Tubman is a 4-6 lane free-for-all with neither an an island nor traffic lights. It's a beast and crossing it is like playing Frogger. It scares me thoroughly.

I am 29.

So I'm sweating on the corner of Tubman and a little person appears beside me. It's a tiny girl. She's not even 7. She's in her uniform and she's looking up at me with huge, hopeful eyes. I'm a terrible person so I assume she wants to sell me something but she doesn't say a word. I step off the curb and forget all about her until I'm standing on the double yellow line in the middle of the road. Then I notice she's still standing next to me. And I realize she just wanted someone to cross with. She's got her that look on her face again so I wrap my fluffy wing around her and flip off drivers and we cross the rest of the way.

She forgets all about me when we reach the sidewalk and I watch her go.

Later, watching Into The Wild, I thought of my chicklings everywhere as the narrator quoted Tolstoy:

I have lived through much, and now I think I have found what is needed for happiness. 

A quiet secluded life in the country, 

with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good.