elevator

it was cold. i was mildly annoyed when the elevator stopped again. in from the garage came three women and a little boy. he was african-american, maybe two and a half or three years old. he was so bundled up he couldn't put his arms down very well, and he had great big eyes that were even wider with surprise, wonder, or fear, i couldn't tell. we waited for the elevator to start up again, and his mama asked him, "are you okay? are you cold?" he looked up and silently shook his head. he took a little sidestep toward me, and another, still wide-eyed and looking about. as the elevator went up, he continued to creep over, and very tentatively grabbed onto my coat, right where my leg would be.

"come on, [little guy]. that lady doesn't want you on her." she pulled him away.

but it was so stinkin' cute.

what's it like to be a kid, two and half years old and two and a half feet tall, freezing cold, stomach sinking on a rising elevator where all that's at eye level is black coat fabric and briefcases? why isn't the world safe enough for a little guy to cling to a friendly stranger's coat when he's scared or cold?

it's too bad.