sechan19 | The Devil in Ms. Jones.

There's something about wearing a devil-horn headband that changes the geography of a day. Passersby take more notice of you, and offer interaction more freely. They call out, give waves, make eye contact, and smile. And this in turn adds a glad spring to your step, turns you outward as a flower to the sun, open and welcoming.

I found the headband, of all places, in my father's office. No idea what it was there for, and less of an idea of whether or not I really wanted to know, but however it came to be there I claimed it for myself and proudly wore it all through lunch and beyond - into the sun dappled afternoon of downtown. My father's coworker, one of our lunch dates, inquired why I was wearing it, and I answered, "why not?"

The headband opened intriguing doors. The woman who ran the security check-in at the state building we had lunch at broke her solemn composure upon our entrance to laugh merrily at the sight of me. A construction worker on the way to my friend's storefront office called out, tapped his head, and gave me a jolly thumbs up. Everywhere I went I was greeted with friendly calls of "Hi Devil!" "Howdy Devil!" "Hey Devil!"

But the best was surely last.

On my way home, bound for the bus, I was stopped by a shrunken, elderly man. His name was Tim and he wore a hospital band around his wrist. He told me he was suffering from cancer, and he needed to get to the hospital but had no money for the fare. Without a word I handed him my bus fare pass. He looked down at it, realized what it was, and his eyes welled with tears. I gave him a hug, which he returned - thanking me. I wished him luck, and I still do.

I had gone twenty paces when the sound of his voice stayed me.

"God bless you, Devil!" he called out.

Turning, I saw him standing by the lightrail, one hand raised in farewell. I blew him a kiss, which he caught, and wandered on into the day.

Rounding the corner, I was just in perfect time to catch my bus home, and as I sat on the sun-warmed seats I was strongly compelled, as was the immortal Anne before me, to murmur, "Dear old world; you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you."