Walking down a street I've walked six hundred times, conceding to a slower gait, noticing for the first time how much this street terrifies me. For how it moves, for where it used to take me. The hands at my side no longer my own - feeling half the woman, twice the woman, and not the same woman at all.
Not everything changes the way you want it to, or when you want it to. Sometimes, you have to give it a little push and send this yearning for change in the right direction. Yesterday, I took Dylan for a walk down this street. It took a long time. It was 26 blocks. I gave her a camera (which I found MONTHS ago - ah... the perks of working at a hotel), and held tight to my own. We own this street. These hands at my side are my hands and hers. She held them so tight and we ran so fast and we gasped for our own air. This street is our own.
We took a break at Lucky's Tattoo Parlor and saw my brother and a couple of the guys working there. Dylan ran around and hopped made several different animal noises bounce off the walls (even some animals I've never heard of!) and it really wore her down.
After trotting around and at one particular moment, talking like a robot, Dylan was finally OUT. It was a good day.
As for the photos she took with her camera, her father hasn't decided what he wants to do with them. Oh, exciting!