getting there

by Erica Hoskins Mullenix

Seems hot for a Thursday, doesn't it? Still had to meet my mama for lunch even though it was a long walk. She wanted to pick me up but I said no, I always say no, she keeps ask­ing, which is nice of her. I like walk­ing. It's hard on my body and I get tired some­times, but it's what I do by myself with­out some­body talk­ing to me all the time ask­ing me ques­tions. The lady at the restau­rant is always nice to me, and she sits me by the win­dow so I can look out, wait­ing for my mom. Everybody there knows my name. They know me because my mother is always explain­ing me to peo­ple. They look for me every Thursday, embar­rass­ing me once by send­ing a police­man up to me on my walk when I was run­ning a lit­tle late. Are you Abbie? He'd pulled up next to me in his car, block­ing the sun­light as he drove slowly along my rou­tine. He said my friends at the restau­rant wanted to make sure I was okay, which I fig­ured, but I just met his eyes politely, say­ing noth­ing. When he asked if I wanted a ride, I shook my head no. I'm on my way.