I sat outside to eat my sandwich because inside was full of people and people things. While I was eating, listening to each delicious bite, I saw a young girl, maybe 13, across the street between two buildings where leftover bricks and concrete suggested a disputed, abandoned business. She was skateboarding, alone, her black hair, black squared pants, and long sleeves. She was pale, or maybe more pale for so much black. But she was alone, like me, content to be. There were no insecure other girls pressing her about a boy, no insecure other boys pressing her about a girl, no grandma asking her prayer group to pray for her, no busy mom pretending to listen, no dad. There was no school counselor drawing question marks in a folder, no doctor trying to tell her about birth control and cigarettes. No pronouns. Just a kid in an abandoned place, practicing her bigspin flip and being.
And a stranger, across the street, quietly cheering for her, hoping she lands it.