Serious as Ice Cream

My mistake was walking down the path past the north end of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, by the hill where people like to sun themselves in full view of the Temple of Dendur. My mistake because a girl, maybe 8 or 9 years old, in a floral print dress was running and I was in her way. Up the hill towards the ice cream cart, perennially present and sold out of Rocket Pops by 3 pm on hot days, and I was in her way. A look passed over her face, brief but intense. A quarter my size, but she wouldn't hesitate to knock me over, to take me out. A look reserved for obstructions, normally accompanied by a growl. A look that eased into another look that reminded me of that line from the Armour hotdogs theme song, "kids who climb on rocks," like maybe she would just clamber over my useless self and rocket off my shoulders, drop first in line at the ice cream cart and sing a happy song on her way back to her parents.
But she swerved around me, up the path, allowing me to disappear.