I went to the park today and took some notes in a journal. This is kind of an extension of what I wrote:

I’m at the park, sitting on the side of a hill in the scratchy, brown grass. Pine needles stab through my jeans and into my legs.

I feel kind of removed from the dog-walkers and the stroller-pushers and the young couples sitting close on old blankets. Guys in caps and flip flops tossing frisbees. Kids shrieking at each other in the playground.

I hear cars driving and wind blowing and construction constructing. The rhythmic creaking of the swings.

And I wonder if I am just as much a part of this scene as they are.

I need to stop fighting things so much. I need to just let my damn hair be curly. Just let the damn wind tousle it even more.

There’s this girl at the bottom of the hill. She looks about my age. She has big white headphones around her neck; she’s holding a stuffed animal of The Lorax in her hands. She had it on her shoulder for awhile. Like a companion.

She isn’t doing anything; she's just sitting.  

Two men in nice slacks approach her, hand her a pamphlet, say some words, and leave. They trudge up the hill to where I lie awkwardly in the grass. They do the same for me.

I look at the pamphlet in my hands. It's white and glossy with blue letters. “You’re Invited to Gospel Baptist Church.”

The girl reads this pamphlet thoroughly, cover to cover. The entire Romans Road.

She sits with her head against her fist, staring at...I'm not sure what. She leaves, clutching The Lorax under the crook of her arm.

I wonder what she’s thinking about, and why she came to the park today, and what she’d be doing if she wasn’t here. And I wonder if she’s going home now. And I wonder if home is a good place for her.

And I really hope it is.