I see an old man looking at me through his rain stained glass. He was in the middle of my street in a black car with his engine off. There were no cars each way i took my eyes. It was the sidewalk and me. Each time i looked at him, his sorrow eyes pulled me closer to trust. I studied his face, each line and every detail I drew in my mind. I was not afraid of this man. The only man who’s face I’ve studied other than now was my father. And he was a man I was afraid of. Every day I’ve waited here for someone to take me home and each day he waits and watches. I know he waits for me. I see the bloodied veins behind his very eye sockets as they fill with ecstasy and wonder when looking at my white dress and blonde curly hair. I am not young my soul is old. I did not choose my childhood it was chosen for me. At that moment the old man changed his life and mine. The old man nudges his head to his right shoulder in telling me that he is safe, his car can take me home. That moment was my choice. With a nod of my head and prancing of my muddy feet my life was in his hands.