An Understanding

A man pulled up to the corner of the street where I wait for my connection bus. He was poised to make a right hand turn, but was forced to wait for a stopping point in the flow of traffic. His little girl, with skin the colour of cinnamon, bright, clear eyes, and such an open face, made eye contact with me. I smiled at her, remembering how much it meant to me as a kid when I could get an adult I didn't know to smile--as though we shared some kind of secret. I know that many children have been trained not to engage strangers in conversation or eye contact, but when I waved to her, she waved back. We smiled at each other for nearly the entire duration of that red light that kept her father waiting.