The grocery cart ran out into the street. Of course, I had to chase it. I did not want to pay someone for a new bumper. The traffic was moderate and I knew the cart could be caught before it careened into a passing car.
The chase took me to the other side of the street. I caught the handle as the cart ricocheted off of the opposite curb. There were no immediate cars so all was good, until I made to return — my son had followed me into the street.
It was abject horror. “What on earth are you doing?!?”
The confused stare of a loving child.
“What are you doing in the middle of the street?!?”
“Never ever run out into the street!! What were you thinking?!?”
“I just wanted to be with you papa.”
Cars are approaching. Somehow the heart beats faster. The moment compounds. I grab a gangly arm and haul it along with the grocery cart. It is a slow awkward march in the face of coming traffic. Each step is an agonizing kaiju march through downtown Tokyo.
My face must is a contorted twist of confusion and anger. I lift him up on the sidewalk just as a car comes our way. “Never ever walk out into the street like that! Why didn’t you stay with the car?”
“I didn’t know,” is uttered as fear comes to the face when confronted with such rage. How far do you take the obvious when in a situation like this?