Oh, Boy

It was late. Probably too late for the boy to be out, alone, walking down her block. She did like the way he crossed the street, looking both ways, making a show of looking both ways, and then strolling across. Yes, strolling as if he hadn't a care in the world, which the stiffness in his neck, the awkward swinging of his arms belied, but he was trying, he was trying.

She thought of calling to him, asking if he needed anything, knew she shouldn't, knew her interference would add to the weight on his shoulders. He was already tentative, and the imposition of a stranger would only make it worse.

But . . .

Well, what if she had something for him, a gift, a cookie, or a piece of pie? Boys like pie. Well, cake was probably better, but she didn't have cake. She did have pie, apple pie. What could be better than a slice of hot apple pie?

So, she was up, already moving toward the kitchen, wondering if she should add ice cream. . . but she only had chocolate. Can you put chocolate ice cream on apple pie?

Well, you could. You can do anything you want, but would it be good?

By the time she'd cut the pie, a big, generous piece, she'd given up the idea of ice cream, and was inching down the steps, pie on a good china plate in one hand, the other sliding along the railing as she descended the four steps to the sidewalk.

"Oh, Boy!" she called, but not loudly enough. He was moving with that easy stroll she had admired, but now nearly at the far street corner.

"Oh, Boy!" she called again, but he was too fast, and she too slow.

She tried one more time, louder, more insistent and and she raised the dish with the gift of pie higher as she yelled, "Boy! Oh, Boy!"

No reaction. How rude, she thought. How disappointing. It wouldn't occur to her until much later that he hadn't heard or seen her.

She waited until he had crossed the road safely and was halfway down the next block before she turned for home, still carrying the pie. At least it hadn't slid off the plate.

And when she got home and was sitting in her chair, with the apple pie and a fork in her hand, she said, "Oh, boy," one more time, and smiled at how two simple words could change meaning in an instant, from a call for attention to a celebration of pie, pie just for her. No need to share.

Oh, Boy!