By Veronika Kowalski
I got off the train, early, at Atlantic Avenue-Barclays Center, with an adult friend. I was telling her why I had caused a scene as we walked up a grassy hill. She was listening intently. She agreed with my course of action. There were video cameras scattered around the sides of our path. They were surrounded by white plastic in the shape of Mickey Mouse’s face. We were heading toward the forest. I saw a slender, tall, blonde girl running our direction. Then, we saw a boy running after her. He was shouting, “Thief!” so I started running after her, too. My friend said when someone is running into a forest, it’s usually because they’ve stolen something.
I was running after her for about a couple of minutes. The trees got taller, the woods got more dense. The trees were actually really skinny. I remembered the article that mentioned how longer strides made faster runners. I made longer strides. I could feel the ball of my foot digging further into the ground. I leaped over a dried-up creek, caught the girl, and we fell. The boy who was calling her a thief caught up to me. He reached into the reusable grocery bag the girl was carrying, and took out a box of cookies or something.
“I would help her up,” the boy shrugged, “but she has the flu.”
If he was implying I would get the flu, I didn’t really care. I told the girl. Almost without thinking, I said, “Go home and get something to eat.” But maybe this was her home. And maybe that was her something to eat.
As I released her, I noticed that one of her elbows was further down her arm than the other.