It was four days before Christmas and traffic was heavy. Car after car was idling with people waiting for the light to change as they headed to the Costco on the left or the mall on the right.

A steady stream of windows for the street vendors to approach.

Most holding stacks of Santa hats. Some carrying pots of poinsettias that had replaced the bouquets of sunflowers so common in other months. A few offering Christmas candies suitable for stockings.

And one little girl walking from car to car holding a piggy bank close to her chest in hands more suited to holding chubby crayons or a favorite teddy bear. 

She couldn’t have been more than five or six. Stopping beside the closed windows of cars, hoping someone would roll one down. Moving on when no one did. 

In the few months I’ve been here, I’ve followed the advice I’ve been given to drive with my windows up. I’ve gotten used to staring straight ahead and shaking my head “no” at the approach of the windshield washers and persons selling mosquito zappers and candied apples and other things I don’t need. 

But that day my eyes stared not blankly, but at the serious face of the little girl who was making her way down through the line of traffic. I couldn’t tell if she was selling the piggy bank or asking for change. No windows had been rolled down.

Just two hours before, I had watched my grandsons, only a few years younger than the girl, open early Christmas presents that I gave them since I was leaving the next day to spend the holidays in the States. Four presents each, with many more to come on Christmas morning. Smiles all around.

There were still several car lengths between me and the little girl when the light changed. I watched as she walked to the median and met up with a boy, maybe ten, who also held a piggy bank. She took a few skips before he pulled her back, took her hand, and walked her to the front of the new line that would be forming. 

Three weeks later, I’m on this same street. There are not as many vendors and the Santa hats are gone, replaced by mosquito zappers, small posters, and collapsible hampers. My window is down as I wait for the light to change. 

I look around and wonder what happens to all the Santa hats after Christmas.And what happens to little girls holding piggy banks in chubby fingers on busy streets.