Undated Short

For every step backwards, there was another step forwards for her. And she always used her various pairs of crutches to navigate her steps on the pavement, with the black hardened gum pressed into their concrete like tags of graffiti. Some unknown source was behind that black gum, and they silently reveled in the mark they had left there. She knew people thought like this. This was the mark that she secretly looked at and wished she could avoid.

She knew it was pointless and stepped there anyway, throwing change into a cup for a bum with a witty sign. It was more than blustery outside and she felt she couldn’t have worn enough jackets. Even though the sun was out, she thought its presence pointless. Blinding her eyes, a nuisance, like a small child at her ankles, grabbing for the outlines of her face. There were certain things about her mind that she didn’t mention when she paced the perimeter of Washington Square Park, she knew there were certain things no one mentioned about their mind. Because it was theirs, and everybody is selfish. Even Mother Theresa. Even her.

She chose a bench with the least amount of people on it. Sitting near strangers made her nervous, she considered them intruders, even though they were there first. She wondered all the time if everybody thought the way she did about personal space. How she can never get too much of it. She felt arms all over her, covering her. In the sunlight, she saw it was a girl she knew but barely knew anything about, a girl who lived six floors up from the park with big white windows and a tiny little bathroom. This was the part of her story that she always waited for. When she wouldn’t have to be alone. When she didn’t have to walk in circles to make up for her immobility.