Emily's Walk

The Lower East Side of New York City had just been acquainted with the humidity of July’s air. The neighborhoods buildings seemed to melt under the sun, and the rain that swept through yesterday left the apartments covered in a layer of dew.

A piercing pull of a metal door rung through the street and out came Emily. The town’s inhabitants were known to be young, vibrant, artistic, poor, reckless, in love and conflicted. Nobody could understand which category Emily fell into. The metal door slammed behind her and she began her descent into the day.

She wore a yellow slip dress that seemed to hover over her body, not able to grasp her. The ballet flats on her feet were black and beat. She walked that morning with no clear purpose but to see the city.

It had been only a month since she moved away from her parents’ house in Indiana. At 19 years old, it was hard to distinguish whether she was a young adult or a junior varsity athlete. She stood nearly six feet tall with orange hair that grazed her exposed collarbone.

She remembered a party she’d been invited to that night. The idea of going provided her with a heightened awareness of the summer’s day. All of a sudden, the people, the buildings and the street became beautiful. All of a sudden, life became exciting.

She didn’t investigate the meaning behind this feeling, but she was glad to be young. She was glad to look in a storefront and see her reflection in the window, the figure looking back, which was filled with youth and dreams.

She began her trek home and a grayness of clouds conjured in the sky, producing a mist over the sullen Lower East Side. A woman passed by strolling her children, and with their passing, Emily’s head turned. She watched the mother disappear with her children into the horizon of the block, and she wondered what made the mother’s day beautiful. She wondered what the mother saw in her own storefront reflection.