My Nemesis

I like to tell people that I don’t have enemies. But that’s not exactly true. I do have an enemy, one who is so perfectly awful that I’ve launched a campaign to ruin her name among the members of my immediate family.

She is known to most as The School Crossing Guard. But I’ll just call her CG Beeyotch for short.

The enmity between us dates back nearly five years, when I began making the mind-numbingly dull trek between home and school to drop off or pick up my then-soon-to-be-stepdaughters.

Each and every day, hot or cold, rain or shine, CG Beeyotch was there standing guard like a favorite grandma, with a friendly wave and a smile for everyone. Everyone except me. Feeling all soon-to-be-stepmotherly, I’d give her a huge fake grin and a hearty wave– only to be met with a grimace.

“She just doesn’t know me,” I thought. As the weeks passed, my grins became even wider and more pronounced, my waves  more frantic. And still she continued to give me the cold crossing guard shoulder. The car before me got a wave. The car after me got a wave. The passing dog walker got a wave. The jet flying overhead got a wave. Worst of all, if my stepdaughters were in the car, they got a wave. But on my own, I got the grimace and and an averted glance.

So of course, being the generous and forgiving person that I am, I started to hate her.

“That crossing guard is evil,” I announced to the girls a few weeks into the school year.

“I think she’s nice,” 14 (then 10) said.

“Yeah,” 13 ( then 8 ) chimed in. “She’s been the crossing guard since I was in, like, first grade.”

“Oh, she seems nice all right,” I said. “But she’s really evil. She’s just trying to trick you because you’re kids.”

“You’re just mad because she won’t wave at you,” 13-then-8 said, never one to mince words.

“I am not! I couldn’t care less about that! But you can tell that she’s probably a child molester.” I was grasping at straws here, but these girls could be hard to convince sometimes. All I got, though, was a pained look from 14-then-10, a look that’s always incredibly irksome when it comes from a kid.

My accusations have continued through the years.

“You know Elizabeth Harper down the street?” I asked 12-then-10 one day.

“Yeah.”

“She told me that the reason the crossing guard was gone last week was because she’s in jail for putting razor blades in apples last Halloween.”

“Yeah, right.” 12-then-10 said mildly.

For a while, I thought I at least had my husband on my side. But then I made the mistake of riding with him one day to pick up the girls. He got a wave.

“Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t– AAAAACCCCKKK!” I shouted as he gave an overly-friendly wave in return. “Traitor!!!!”

“You’re just mad because she won’t wave at you,” he retorted. “I think she’s nice. She’s been the girls’ crossing guard since-”

“Oh blah, blah, blah,” I harumphed. “She’s got you all fooled! She doesn’t care about you! She’s just trying to get back at ME!”

“You need help,” he replied.

Fortunately, this year I finally found a shortcut that allows me to make my way to and from school crossing guard-free. But occasionally I forget to make the turn and find myself face to face with CG Beeyotch once again. Like the elephant she resembles, she never forgets… to wave at everyone.

But.

Me.

“I see the crossing guard got a haircut,” I said conversationally to 12 as we made our way home recently. “Now she looks more like a man than ever.”

“She does not,” 12 laughed.

“She does,” I insisted. “And… well, no I shouldn’t tell you that.”

“What?” 12 asked skeptically.

“Well…” I hesitated dramatically, then said, “I guess you’re old enough. The real reason I don’t like her is that last year when I was coming to pick you up one day, I was early and she had just gotten here and forgotten to button up her jacket. And she had a t-shirt on and it said…”

“It said what?”

“It said, ‘I love Satan.'”

“No it didn’t.”

“Yes it did,” I insisted. “I’m just not sure I want someone who loves Satan to be helping you guys cross the street.”

“You just don’t like her because she won’t wave at you.”

“Uh-uh. I don’t like her because she loves Satan.”

“No she doesn’t.”

“Yes she does…”