Neighbourhood Watch

"Alaina, is ustetha some kind of title?"

"Umm, I don't think so."

"Ok. Then somehow the nut guy knows I'm a teacher."

"The nut guy by the French Institute?"

"No, the other one."

"Huh. That's weird."

"And then today, a stranger gave me an Hola, profesora."

"Huh."

Upon reflection, it's not so surprising that after four and a half months the neighbourhood knows me and my profession. There are only a few foreigners wandering around. It has its benefits, too, as we discovered tonight, walking home from work.

A boy split off from his two friends and crossed the street toward us. He had something in his hand. He walked straight at us, fast. Alaina veered left and as the kid passed between us, he raised his hand. I spun to dodge him. Then he laughed. 

"Qu'est-ce que tu fait?!" I shouted, fear in my lungs.

We turned the corner, but I saw in my peripheral vision that he was coming back for more. We were already on our block, though, and caught the attention of two men in the garage next to our apartment. "This boy..." Alaina started, but our neighbours were already running into the street. Even before they could grab the boy, though, our colleague, who had seen him approach us the first time, was running him down. 

Nothing had happened. I'm not sure the boy intended anything but to scare us. Nevertheless, I felt protected, valued, even treasured, as our community members launched into this kid. What was he doing? What was he thinking? Did he want to go to the police? It went on for a couple minutes. He apologized. We accepted the apology and went upstairs.