To the teen sitting on the step

I am approaching a four way intersection

on a summer weekday

Stop signs making traffic hitch and pause

As people wonder what the rule is for who goes first

You are sitting on the step of the house

at the corner

Dressed in all black

black shoes

black socks

black shorts

black shirt

dark hair

Your arms are wrapped around your knees

Chin hiding behind your forearms

Your head moves slightly with each car passing

I turn my gaze back to the traffic

I wonder what is going on

Did you not take the garbage out when asked?

Is he drinking already (it’s two in the afternoon)?

Did she end it with a text message?

Or were you told, again, how worthless you are?

I am now in the stop sign queue

four cars to go

Debating if I should turn to look at you

Now that I am almost parallel to you

I recognize the body language

closed

feet tapping

caged

yet afraid to run

I chance it

our eyes meet

I can see the red highlights around your eyes

Feel the hate expressed through the

    “What are you looking at?” expression

We break our glance at the same time

I feel guilty that I can’t change anything

    because I’ve sat there on my own step

I push the gas pedal down

crossing the intersection

Glancing into my review mirror

I see you are still sitting

Slowly becoming smaller as I  head to school

to be certified

By the Red Cross

to save a life.