"We Are Traffic"

Parking flanks both sides of the narrow funnel for traffic in and out of the office complex parking lot. This layout creates a gauntlet of sorts for pedestrians trying to play frogger with the morning traffic coming in and out of the lot. Such was the case today when a line of a dozen or so cars streamed off the side street and into the thin entrance way. On the far side of traffic stood a mother with her very young child, she had to have been 3. Hair in a dozen tiny braids, wearing her pink coat and carrying a lunch box, the child held her mother’s hand as they waited for one of the cars to let them cross. Even while inching forward at micro speeds none of the cars wanted to give way and yield; not even a tiny human sized opening was permitted to allow this child through. They waited in the 20 degree temps under a hazy blue cloud free sky. The little girl stood close and frowned. She’s obviously seen cars before, but in this manner, streaming forward, exhausts billowing and brakes squealing with each creeping shudder of progress, the sight must have scared her. She stepped even closer, practically huddling in refuge under her mother’s coat. But at the end of the line of cars, silent and wobbling in a creeping track stand was a guy on a bike. He let them forward, in fact he could pass as close or as far from them as possible in the line of traffic and still only seem a whisper to them; the ticking of gears and derailleur no louder than a mantle clock. The mother and child freely stepped forward and made their way. Confidently clutching her lunchbox the little girl now moved out into traffic, but there was no traffic. No exhaust, no menacing grill bearing down on her, no large tires to dwarf her and render her an obstacle no more imposing than the often ignored speed bump in front of them. No traffic, just a guy and a bicycle. This too must have been a familiar sight to the child’s eyes, because she turned and looked straight at the rider, raised her arm and pointed, smile beaming on her youthful face. She locked eyes with the rider in wonder, all the while her small feet quickly stepping haphazardly across the street, lunch box flapping at her side. Once safely across and pointed towards the entrance of the building, she glanced up at her mom, still pointing, as if to ensure that her mom took note as well. “That’s right dear; a bicycle.”