"Hi!" →[More:] said the small voice, as I was getting out of my car, late this evening, in the Winn Dixie parking lot. I looked around, didn't see anyone, but being it was a very small sounding voice, I decided to answer.
"Hi!" I said, trying to make my baritone sound cheery.
"Hi!" said the small voice, again, cheerily itself, off to my left, around the front of the van I'd parked beside. I walked to the front of the van, and there, sitting in a shopping cart, was a small girl.
"Oh." she said, as I came into her view, around the corner of the van. She was probably expecting somebody she knew, not this big, old man in a blue t-shirt.
I never talk to kids to whom I'm not related, try never to look at them, and generally ignore them entirely, unless they are screaming in a restaurant, or kicking the back of my seat on an airplane. It's really the only acceptable attitude for adult men in public, in 21st century America, where children are involved. I've gotten good enough ignoring children that I suppose it would only be a 50/50 chance I'd notice a toddler running out in front of a bus, but that's the breaks.
So, this little confrontation was as unexpected and generally uncomfortable for me as it looked like it was quickly becoming for the little girl. I looked around, and it was only the van in front of her, or the empty parking spots she was sitting in, and the ones next to it, to which she could possibly have belonged.
"Where's your Mommy?" I asked. No answer. Just big eyes.
"Where's your Daddy?" I followed up. No answer.
"What's your name?" I tried, hoping for some useful response. Nada.
When in doubt, try what's worked, I thought. Prime the pump.
"Hi!" I said.
"Hi!" she said.
"Hi!" I responded.
"Hi!" she grinned back. For a 30 second, 4 syllable conversation, this was going swimmingly, I thought.
About that time, a tire squealing extended cab pickup came screeching up, and a heavy set young blonde woman jumped out of the passenger side, yelling "B
aaaaaby!" She shot me a dirty look, as soon as she saw me, and ran to grab the child out of the grocery cart, first pulling the cart towards herself, away from me (although I'd never gotten closer than about 4 feet to the cart), before yanking the kid out of the cart seat, under her arms.
"You her mama?" I asked the young woman's retreating back. No response, as she swiveled and jumped into the truck with the kid in her arms. As soon as the truck door slammed, the cigarette smoking male driver squealed rubber, making their getaway, leaving the mingled scents of motor oil and tobacco smoke hanging in the still Florida night air.
And then, it was just me and the empty cart, and some parked vehicles in the Winn Dixie parking lot.