Little Neighborhood (a short story)

As we walked through the streets in the dark, the only noise that drifted through the air were our voices and the faint sound of our feet as they hit the pavement. We enjoyed taking long walks at night because it allowed us to have deep conversations as we stared up at the moon. Sometimes our steps would lead us through a fancy neighborhood as we imagined what type of people lived in those magnificent houses with their gorgeous gardens and spacious windows. Being in those neighborhoods reminded us that we did not fit or belong there; we were separated by an invisible barrier.

That alienating feeling was difficult to describe but we both felt it. See, that was one of the many things that only we understood. After all, in this city we only had each other. It was as if no one else truly understood us or the type of lives we lived, much less where we came from. It was something that connected us. Sometimes during these walks, you would go ahead of me and the silence of the night would separate our steps and our thoughts; and it was precisely in those moments that I felt that I would lose you.

I remember the first time we went on one of those nightly walks. You took me to a small park that was full of trees and a darkened path. Benches were scattered around and the wind blew softly. The night was clear and the stars illuminated a bench that was near a leafless tree. And it was there, in the darkness of the night, that we opened up to each other. We talked for hours about everything. We talked about our past, remembering the little things that had shaped us as individuals and that had now brought us to the same unfamiliar place. This city was so strange and different and we didn't know if we would ever belong or feel a part of it. But we would always have those walks in those little neighborhoods to comfort each other and just be ourselves.