It was the second Wednesday in September. The remnants of summer continued to linger, delaying fall’s invasion. The sun peeked through the windows, illuminating the dark, desolate apartment. She sat, alone, on the bench in the foyer, tying her shoes and gathering the few things she needed. She stood up and slowly walked out of the apartment. Before letting the door close, she looked back inside hoping that it was not the last time. She tried to push away the overly dramatic thoughts as she got in the elevator and began her journey.

As she took her first steps, she looked around at the unknown world she had known all her life. She immediately felt like a stranger in her own neighborhood. She tried to turn back and run into the safe embrace of her home but she was already at the corner; she was too far-gone.

She picked her head up, faced her fears, and claimed her independence. The timid, little ten year-old girl was taking herself to a play-date seven blocks away. In the true spirit of independence, she had not asked or told anyone that she was doing this; she did not have a cell phone; she was completely on her own. The independence did not empower her; it intimidated her and made her feel smaller. The independence made her realize the enormity of the world and her own insignificance.

She crossed the small streets and repeated everything her parents taught her about crossing the street and walking alone. Don’t talk to strangers, wait for the light, look both ways before you cross. She walked without making eye contact with anyone and flipped her head like a spectator at the US Open. Although she looked insane, her caution gave her a sense of relief. Soon enough she felt secure and a little confident. She allowed her eyes to wander, looking at the tall buildings that lined the avenue. She saw babies giggling in strollers, a young couple unloading the trunk of their car, two dogs jumping and dancing around each other and she no longer felt so alone. Then she looked up at the trees smiling down on her. They playfully spun and swayed in the soft September breeze. The atmosphere was calm and familiar and she was certain that the rest of her journey would go smoothly from that point.

Her anxieties came rushing back as she reached Seventy Ninth Street’s four-lane traffic crosswalk. The distant sidewalk seemed to be a world away. She was afraid and wanted to call out for help, for advice but there was no one around to help her; the loneliness set in. She dreaded the moment that the light would turn green and she would have to go; she needed a hand to hold or at least a foot to follow. Suddenly, the light turned green but she couldn’t take the next step. In a last minute decision, she took a page out of her brother’s book, thinking it was safer to get out of the street as fast as possible. She darted into the street and attempted to dart back out. She was almost on the other side when a large, silver SUV nearly rammed right into her. The driver honked and yelled, the babies began to cry, the couple broke a lamp, the dogs began barking, the wind fiercely picked up, and the girl let out a short cry as the calmness of before vanished. The chaos intensified her fears and she could no longer think; all she heard was the sound of her little shriek, playing over and over again in her mind. She kept running. Her worn out sneakers smacking the ground, her stubby legs advancing as quickly as they could, her muscle-less arms flapping by her sides, she ran at her own speed of light. Although she was tired and out of breath, she couldn’t stop running; it was completely involuntary. She was running from her fears, for her life, and towards safety. She didn’t want independence she wanted her mother. Her eyes filled with tears and her abdomen cramped up but she persevered.

The buildings and streetlights were blurry. The wind pushed against her and the trees seemed to be mocking her. She could only see one thing ahead, her destination. The large green awning with white, cursive letters that read, “Four Seventy Three”. For the remaining block, she continued to run, not slowing down for a moment. As she reached the building’s entrance, she imagined herself in a marathon, crossing the finish line. She clutched her abdomen and tried to catch her breath while waiting for the elevator. She dragged her limp body into the elevator and hit four. As the doors closed, she leaned against the wall for support. Breathing heavily and deeply, her flushed face cracked a smile. She gently closed her eyes, relishing the moment. She crossed the finish line first. She won.