Crossing the Street

While we are waiting for the elevator Aidan and Lydia are teasing each other and Elisa moves in and out of their dynamic. Eight floors down and out the door into the street. Downtown Beijing we are, except there isn’t really a such thing as downtown Beijing so my crowded neighborhood is one of a dozen that can lay claim.

Elisa bounds ahead doing a kind of skip walk. Aidan, football in hands runs ahead and Lydia stands at my side telling me a story she is writing. Aidan gets 15 yards in front, turns and throws me the football. My body turns towards it slowly and without grace. I grab the ball and throw it back to him. He catches it, runs a bit, and we repeat. As we get close to the busy intersection - one scattered with carts, bicycles, scooters, taxis, cars, buses, and people - I yell out “Elisa, wait!” and she stops and yells back “I know”.

I catch up to her and we make our way across the street like kids crossing a stream rock by rock. Stop, one in the bike lane coming towards us? Step. No car making a rolling right hand turn? Wait. Ok, now go. Stop, look at traffic on your left and see how fast. Go to the middle of the street, stop and look right. Traffic clear, go to far end bike land and check both directions. Wait. Clear? Yes. Let go of Elisa hand and let her run into the square in front of the mall.

We’ve done this hundreds of times and on this night I am aware that I am holding on to Elisa’s hand more than for her safety but also for the caring of the memory of her. With Elisa, being my youngest child, I am more aware of her changing and the loss of her little kid-ness. She doesn’t really need to hold my hand now to cross the street. But I want her to and I am happy as can be when she reaches for it and as proud as can be when I let go and she runs.