Christian

“My name is Christian and I’m five years old,” he said to the suited man, Kirk Cherry. A boy talking to a businessman at a late morning street corner, people may have thought them related. Holding a box of jellies in one hand, the boy held his other outstretched, reaching almost to the end of the tie below the man’s jacket’s done-up buttons. The morning meeting had started a few minutes ago. The longer Kirk took, the longer he was going to keep his employees waiting. His alarm clock should have worked, but just when it was needed, it decided to run out of batteries. Time’s an unreliable bitch; sometimes. He moved to cross the street.

“Excuse me, sir, could you please help me cross the street?” voiced the boy. “Mummy says I can’t cross without an adult because it’s not safe.” Kirk turned his head slightly. Yes, he was talking to him – hand out, unkempt hair, oversized clothes, barefoot. Kirk’s pocket vibrated. He was late. The boy smiled and like clockwork, the guilt set in. He couldn’t just leave him there. He was late anyway, so what’s another minute? “Please, sir.” He moved his briefcase to his left hand and took the boy’s. The small fingers were traced with the sweat of youth. He stepped his foot once more onto the concrete, but the boy hesitated.

“Sir, it’s not green yet, we shouldn’t go.” The grip weakened, and Kirk knew he was going to have to wait. There were no cars coming, but the traffic lights were never in sync with traffic itself. He’d have to wait. Damn. Unless…

Squatting, he met the boy’s born-yesterday eyes. “You know,” he began, “it’s safe to cross when there’s no cars coming, or when the light’s green. It’s a small town, and there’s not much traffic in the morning. All you have to do is check both ways and then go when it’s clear.”

The boy’s eyes probed Kirk’s forehead – maybe he found a pimple, or a wrinkle. But he didn’t say anything. At the change to green, they crossed. His meeting beckoned.

Batteries – forgotten. The relentless pager in his pocket prompted Kirk to hurry again the next day. At the same intersection, there was the boy again, waiting to cross, once again, hesitant to cross. Apparently, life hadn’t taught him yet that it was okay to bend the ‘rules’ – that’s to say, he still listened to his mother. As Kirk approached, the boy turned and bounded with his hand outstretched.

“Hi, sir! My name’s Christian and I’m five years old.”

“So that’s your name, is it? Do you want me to help you cross the street, Christian?” An eager nod. “Do you remember what I told you yesterday? How it was safe to cross if it’s green or if there’s no cars coming?” He shook his head. Typical kid. To him, life is just a moment, and everything else is forgotten. “Well, it’s safe now to cross.”

“Mummy said to go only when it’s green. Can you please help me cross when it’s green?” Refusal would not get him to the office in time, and his pocket urged him to agree.

The next morning, there was no such rush. The alarm clock woke him up on time. At the same intersection, Christian waited on the other side of the street. He stood there on the concrete by the traffic lights, transfixed by the colour of rejection that denied passage to the cars ahead. Opportunity seized, Kirk crossed.

“Excuse me, sir! Can you please help me find something? I dropped my box of jellies. Can you find my box of jellies?” It lay fallen, rejected, nearby.

“Here you go, boy. It was just over there.” And Christian appreciated it and held out his other hand, this time to shake. How can a five-year-old forget where he put his jellies? Supposedly, he may have just dropped them without a care in his sweet momentary world. “How come you’re on this side of the street? Yesterday when I found you, you were over there.”

“Mummy said I could cross if it was green and if an adult took me.”

“Ok, so someone helped you?”

“Yes, a man. He didn’t say anything but I just took his hand and he walked me across.”

Now, obviously his mother hadn’t taught him about strangers. “You probably shouldn’t have done that. What if the man was dangerous or had a gun?”

“I don’t think he had a gun. He took me across the street. I thanked him and then I wanted to go see my mummy.”

“Maybe you should tell her to stop sending you for sweets without an adult, people can be more dangerous than cars.”

“But mummy said to do what she says, and she said it was okay if I asked the adult and the adult took me across when it was green.”

Kirk’s face tensed. Where had parental responsibility gone? It wouldn’t help anyone to go through life without learning which risks are worth taking and which ones aren’t. The mother needed lessons, too. The kid’s obedience may end up costing them more than his jellies.

“Listen,” and their eyes levelled, “Can you take me to your mummy, Christian? I’d like to talk to her.”

Hand in hand, the boy led Kirk through disregarded alleyways and buildings where there once must have been activity. His pocket started vibrating sometime but he turned the bloody thing off, preferring the solitude to the interrupting reminders of his daily routine. He’d be just a few minutes late… not enough to cause a dispute – after all, the manager was an integral part of the business and they wouldn’t function without his involvement. They might even take it as a sign of Kirk’s confidence in them that he’s letting them start the meetings without his presence. His job had always been to ensure the numbers added up properly – so there couldn’t be any discrepancies on his watch. Profits had to match earnings at the end of the day. That would come. Time didn’t matter for the moment. He was going to do a good deed.

Christian let go of his hand to place the box of jellies onto a pile of about twenty, all stacked on top of a small stone at the head of a dirt mound. A wan “Maree” was scribbled on the stone. “Hi mummy, here’s your jellies!” He sat on another stone directly adjacent to the pile, a stone part of a whole row of differently sized and shaped stones in a courtyard’s worth of grass and dirt and worms.

“I dropped my box of jellies on the footpath, but this man found it for me, and he wants to talk to you.” This is where their gazes met once more, but Kirk hesitated. What was there to say?

Just as the moment arrived, it had already left. There was no one around, no one else to talk to, no one to explain to him what had happened. But, he understood, then. The silence somehow justified Kirk’s cold demeanour. What was he supposed to say, and to whom? Christian was five. He was only five. Kirk took a few steps back, thinking some distance would help him gain some perspective. There were names on the nearby stones, too. But he couldn’t sob in front of someone who wouldn’t understand why he would be sobbing. Someone who kept their innocence alive by their ignorance to the truth would have to come into their own realisation in their own time. Kirk managed to smile, but Christian didn’t change his expression. His eager eyes looked right through him. Time would slowly trickle cruelty in his jellies until his pile crumbled, when he might build it back up.

“Mummy says thank you for being concerned for me,” said the boy. “She appreciates your care. She says she knows the man that took me across the street because she sent him to take me across the street. That’s all I need to know to be safe. Thank you for coming to see, mummy sir!” and again he held out his hand, for someone to hold.