by Chayala Friedman
This is me at nine years old walking with my father to school. We reach the last block. I stop. “I wanna go the rest myself.” I look up. Surprised eyes look back. “But-.“
“I don’t want the other kids to see me with you. They’ll think I’m a baby.” I let go of his hand.
Silence and little feet pattering. I don’t look back.
