Morning Rush

T he morning ritual of Monday through Friday is pretty much the same in Mexico as anywhere else I have been. With school age children to get ready in the morning, rushing and hurrying is diurnal process that just can't be avoided. Today, however, the morning scurry came to a screeching halt for one family. I don't know who they are, I don't know thier names. All I know is that this family also had a school age child who was hit on his or her way to school. I know this, because in my rush to be on time to my son's school, I saw a little body, still and covered by a blanket, laying in the middle of an overloaded street. To be accurate, after fighting to get my car into the turning lane, battling other drivers to get into the lane (because driving in Mexico is the definition of chaos), I saw a large truck stopped in the road. I was furious, "what the %$*! is this truck doing" I said. Then I saw a man, directing traffic, a mound of clothing on the road behind him and a group of women huddled together on the corner. It all happened so quickly, just as I turned the corner (since I couldn't go straight) I realized that the mound of clothing was a child, I could see his or her sneakers and gym uniform. "¡DIOS MIO!" I exclaimed. I couldn't help myself, I saw the women on the corner, I realized they were consoling each other, perhaps one of them was the child's mother. On the right hand side of this street corner, there is a large school. Children were in the road, at the school's enterance, yelling, crying, running, maybe trying to figure out who the child was but they were in shock. I caught myself looking at the clock, force of habit, checking to make sure we weren't late. I reviled myself for even thinking about tardiness: a child had just died as he or she hurried to school. "We can be late" I told my son, "that little boy or girl just died, we can be late..."