I almost run after him.
The truck keeps going, soon disappearing from view.
I lower my hand.
And then the world falls out from under me.
Childhood over.
Time to sink or swim.
The woman looks frightened.
“My husband's inside,” she says, as if to warn me off.
I wipe a hand across my cheek.
Rough as guts, that's how I look.
No wonder she’s scared.
“Excuse me,” I ask politely. “How do I find the library?”
It’s the safest place I can think of.
Somewhere I can sit for a while.
At least until I figure out what to do next.
The woman seems surprised.
Probably the last thing she expected a dangerous thug to say.
She points toward the end of the street.
“Four or five blocks that way,” she gestures.
“Turn left along Eagle Street. You’ll see it.”
I nod and smile.
“Thank you, Ma'am.”
I like your begonia, I almost say.
But only weirdo's say things like that.
Only weirdo's have a pretend Nana.
Loosening the strap of my backpack, I begin walking.
These streets feel so different to mine.
Crowded by comparison.
So many homes, all in a row.
A maze of streets and gardens.
