May 15, 1968
by Amy
On my way to get coffee for Glasses this morning, I crossed paths with a little boy riding a tricycle. Meandering down the sidewalk, he seemed so sweet and happy. There’s so much that he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. All he wants to do is his part, which right now is just being a little boy.
I tried to think back to a time when I was little girl. Before I knew about war and unfairness. Before I knew that there was a city called Chicago and a crazy mayor who ran it. I remember a time when I wasn’t scared of police and the names they might call me if I passed them on the street.
I feel melancholy and lost. I think the main problem is that I don’t feel like I have anyone to talk with. Lesley is coming back this weekend. Coleman is doing things I don’t understand – like joining our group for instance. I haven’t seen my Father because he still doesn’t know about how I broke my arm. Dumb, but I just can’t bring myself to tell him. I can hear him now, “Oh Amy” he’d say, so disappointed.
With Lesley gone, Bea and I have gotten closer but I don’t feel like I can really talk with her. She seems to be going through some things herself. She’s pissed about something.
Maybe I’ll try to talk to her tomorrow. See what’s going on.
