Sandals

I was in my office, a hot August afternoon. I heard the squeal, horns blaring, one car striking another and I went out to see. A woman near a wrecked car held a small boy. Sirens. Police cars. The boy wriggled, wanted down. She lowered him. He held her hem and hopped, foot-to-foot, on the pavement. He looked over at the wrecked car and I saw them there, on the ground, two small sandals. No one noticed me in the commotion. I set the sandals before him. He slid his feet into them and I returned to work.