The Kindness of Strangers

The young never heed a warning. They wanted directions to the vacant apartment building; you know the one. I could see the girl glancing at my blouse, my pink coat, a sneak peek up at my umbrella, the little drops crawling down and plopping the side of their car. Maybe they thought me too earnest, too old. But they wanted something from me, and although I even had them repeat the steps to the haunted hill, I asked them to forget how to get there, to turn around, go back where they came from. I’ll admit that that’s what I said, but I knew they would go. And what they would find. What would happen to them. I can’t say I care. Those judgmental looks and youthful conceit bring out the worst in me. I forgot to tell them to bring a cross. Not that they would have done so. I watched them drive off toward Ash Street, a tiny smile winking off the sides of my mouth.