Observing the Soldier

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He stands there, obviously instructed not to move but finding this very hard to do. Every day a guard, a small man in a green-grey uniform, stands watching the entrance to my school. His hat doesn’t quite fit on his head - it’s a little small. If he turns his head too quickly it might fall off. Sometimes I hope it will, so I can see what he’s like when he isn’t the permanent statue fixed to his green stand. The stand is shaped like a wedding cake, two-tiered. Atop it stands the lone figure in a very standardized uniform. Maybe it’s one-size-fits-all. In any event, it doesn’t quite fit him - he looks like a little boy trying in vain to trudge around in his father’s shoes. This guard’s uniform is covered in straps, buttons, silver snaps, black snaps, straps, and badges. Most of them don’t serve any function at all other than to make the uniform seem more official and important. As official and important as he may be, the guard doesn’t actually do anything. He is a toy soldier fished out of a little boy’s toy chest. Impressive, picturesque, and useless.

Why does it seem to me as though the soldier was instructed not to move? He certainly does change positions and is in no way motionless. As students and visitors meander in and out of the gate, his head follows them a ways. After a while he stops watching - maybe they’ve ceased to be interesting or maybe they eventually step out of the zone he is responsible for guarding. He talks with the guard that can occasionally be found flanking the other side of the gate. When the chance car passes through, he reaches over to a button to let it through the gates. Perhaps he tries to minimize his movements, which makes it look to me like he isn’t supposed to be moving. He could just want to look official, like those who stand watch over the castle in England. It is entirely possible that he is simply bored and doesn’t want to waste the energy to just pointlessly move around.

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