This Child...

The town of Koror

It was a Friday afternoon.  School ends at 12:45 on Friday, so the bus usually arrives to take us back to PMA by 1:30.  It was hot and everyone was ready to go home.  I had just sent the kids out of the library and closed up, and I was sitting in the air-conditioned bus, waiting for the teachers to all arrive.  

Then I saw the kindergarten teacher talking to a little girl from first grade.  I had just finished subbing 1^st grade, so I knew the little girl well, and knew that she had tried to call her parents in the library, but hadn’t gotten an answer, and then I had sent her out.  She looked like she was just hanging around now.  Did she have a way to get home?

I went over to where they were talking, and Ms. K was asking if the little girl (I’ll call her Ruby, I guess) lived nearby.  She said yes, and when we pressed further, she said she could go home alone, but we were concerned about her crossing the street in the afternoon rush of traffic.  So Ms. K asked if we could walk Ruby home.

It started out normally enough.  Ruby didn’t seem thrilled to have us with her.  “Why are you following me?” she asked.  We told her we wanted her to get home safe.  She led us through a parking lot, past a park, to the sidewalk of the main road.  

“Is your house much further?” we asked.

“Further,” Ruby said.  “Why are you following me?”  She ran ahead.

“Stay with us!” said Ms. K.  “We don’t want you to get hurt by a car.”

The supreme court is down there where we walked...fortunately it wasn't dark though

Ruby looked back at us with an impish grin, and then took off.  I have to tell you that by experience I know that she’s a very…contrary little kid.  So much so that I think she’d float upstream instead of down if she fell in a river.  If you tell her one thing, that immediately triggers something in her that wants to do the exact opposite.

We tried to jog after her a little, but she just kept running a good 50 feet ahead of us.  Thankfully she didn’t disappear…maybe because we had her backpack which she had slipped out of when I grabbed it to slow her down.  Or maybe she realized we were trying to help.  Meanwhile, we were going further and further down the road as cars whizzed past in the midday Palauan sun.  We walked past the Rock Island Café, the Anthias Café, the supreme court, the community college, the information center…

Finally Ruby slowed down and we caught up to her. 

“Where is your house?” asked Ms. K with frazzled patience.

“Over there,” the little girl pointed across the street.

“Ok, wait with us and we’ll cross when it’s safe.”

Ms. K held onto her almost with a death grip until we had crossed.

“All right, how much further?  Tell us where to go.”

“Keep going!”

We walked down past a few more buildings, past construction and motels.

“Is it much further?”

“Walk!” the six-year-old ordered.

A minute later Ruby giggled.  “Just kidding.  It’s back there.”

Ms. K and I stared at each other.

“This child…”

“Don’t lie to us any more,” Ms. K told Ruby.  “Tell us where you really live.”

A lady driving by said hello to Ruby, and we gazed pathetically after the disappearing car.  “Tell us where she lives…”

Finally we got to a quiet street.  A man driving by waved at Ruby and we quickly asked him if she lived nearby.  He pointed us to the house she was taking us to.  Finally.  We sent her and her backpack inside.

“Bye, see you next week.  Be safe.”

We realized that she probably did walk home alone sometimes.  But all that way?  With all those cars?  We justified ourselves in that we hadn’t known whether to believe her or not.

There was no way to tell the people on the bus where we were, since Ms. K couldn’t get a Wifi signal for her phone.  So we started jogging back.  A light rain fell on us as we ran, two young white girls in polos and skirts, up the main road in Koror with our hair straggling around our hot faces.  I wonder what people thought when they saw us.

“I feel so bad for the people waiting!” panted Ms. K.  “I had no idea it would be this far…I thought she lived across the street.”

“Well, at least we know she’s back safe,” I said.

“I just couldn’t stand the thought of her going back alone and maybe getting hit…I think my heart is too big.  I think of them as my kids…”

I didn’t think her heart was too big.  Sure, we’d gone above and beyond the call of duty, but isn’t that what we’re meant to do?  I just wished that I had that big a heart.  I hadn’t gone because I felt that much love or concern; I had just thought it was the right thing to do.

“At least this will make a good story,” said Ms. K as we rounded the bend and thankfully found the bus still idling, waiting for us.  (The driver was asleep, and so were some of the teachers).  We had been gone about 40 minutes, and might have covered a mile altogether.  I guess everyone was too tired to be very irritated at us, but at any rate we were back.  We roused the driver, the bus shuddered into gear, and we were on our way.

I don’t know what lesson to draw from this episode.  I can think of a few…we’re all kind of like Ruby, running away sometimes from Someone who wants to help us, and acting like it’s a big joke.  No appreciation.  But that Someone keeps coming after us because of love and concern for our safety.  

Or maybe you can just marvel at the patience and care of a girl who took a year out of her life to teach kindergarten on a little island in the Pacific, and who would rather chase a wild child through the streets of Koror than lie awake that weekend wondering whether she had crossed the street safely.  I have to say I really admire what she did on that Friday. (if her parents somehow end up reading this, I hope they're proud).

Whatever else can be learned from that day, at least we came back calling it an adventure.  Soon we were back home, safe and sound.

And so was Ruby.