Belonging

My Dear Ones, when I can move around my neighborhood with my eyes open, there are signs of the thousands of ways we are learning to neglect one another. Today’s draft is one of those stories.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedA man walked past me wearing paper scrubsten steps beyond me he turned around, looked hard into my eyes. I held up my hands and tried to appear small. He nodded once and turned away, back to whatever parallel universe mission drew him forward down Bardstown Road on a June morning before all the downtown traffic came through. The temptation is to make myself the center of the story,highlight my feminine fragility -- The the truth is, I had all the weapons -- Of whiteness and sharp keys and clear eyes and voice. Of knowing it's twenty steps to the coffee shop or thirty-five to the cookie storeand I am assured of belonging no matter where I go.