Finger

This is one of the first memories I have of Toronto.

I was new in town, just a few weeks since I came from Calgary. I was driving through a nice neighborhood on a beautiful June afternoon and stopped at an intersection. An old woman was crossing the road slowly, leaning on a walker. Her hair was completely white, her shoulders bent, her wrinkled hands were squeezing the plastic handles of the walker like her life depended on it. Her feet were shuffling on the pavement, inching forward. I might have had enough space to pass before she crawled into my path, but I wasn't in a hurry and didn't want to startle her. So, I watched her labor across and, when she came right in front of my car, she gave me a twisted grin and raised the closer hand, leaning shakily on the other side. Before I could wave back, her arthritic fist crumpled into an unmistakable gesture: she was giving me the finger! The expression on her wrinkled face I mistook for a grin, was actually a scowl.
She was risking her fragile balance to give me the Toronto's favorite "greeting". I was so shocked by the unprovoked gesture that I sat there for almost a minute after she shuffle-squeaked away.