Slipping into my runners, I tie them firmly but not too tight. I step out of the apartment and fumble with the keys as I lock the door. I run down the six stairs to the foyer. After yanking the door open, I step out, dancing down those five steps.
I almost expected to hear a booming radio voice penetrating all the clamour around me — “That’s one small step for a woman ….” Okay. Okay. It was not of Neil Armstrong proportions, but a biggie just the same.
There are no trumpets or bagpipes. Nobody rushes at me, pulling me into a lovely hug that jostles my bones. Nope. The traffic didn’t come to a standstill. There was no double-take of any kind. This–after I leave my safe home for the first time in twenty-one years, with my arms and legs fully exposed, baring hundreds of scars to the cool breeze. Shorts and a tee-shirt never felt more free and easy.
