I bumped into a young woman a few days ago. My head was down, following a band of marching black ants who were on a mission of importance, I’m sure. She was talking on her cellphone.
Neither of us were hurt. I was embarrassed. She was amused.
She asked her mom to hang on for a minute, then smiled at me and said, “So what’s your excuse?”
“Ants,” I said, pointing down at the sidewalk.
“Interesting,” she said. “Do they know where they are going?”
I smiled, “Obviously, better than we do.”
“Do you want to wish my mom a happy birthday?” she asked.
“Shucks, yes,” I replied.
Alice, the mother, was born in Moline, Illinois. She teaches piano and likes sponge cake.
Maybe five minutes passed.
The ants moved on to a patch of green grass.
The girl gave me her card. She’s Pam, an attorney.
And a new friend.
Letter to Eddie