Free Everyday Hero by Kathleen Cherry

behind me, I heard the driver’s angry
yell. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
    I stood. Traffic roared beside me. The wind tugged at my clothes, stealing my breath.
    The taxi roared away.
    I stood on the sidewalk.
    No Megan.
    With wobbling knees, I went toward a gray stone building and sat down on the sidewalk,
leaning against the wall’s firm, cold concrete.
    I closed my eyes.
    I counted the bead necklace three times. And then another three times. At last I
opened my eyes. I was sitting quite close to the crosswalk. To my left, someone else
sat against the wall with a cap in front of him. I wondered if he also had Asperger’s
and liked walls.
    In Kitimat, there are only two traffic lights, but I had lived in Vancouver for thirteen
years and twenty-six days, so I knew about traffic and intersections.
    I do not mind traffic lights and intersections because there are rules. I like to
know that when the small illuminated white man is visible I can walk, and if the
red hand appears, I cannot walk.
    As I looked around, I saw that there was a Starbucks on the other side of the street.
I stood up. I remembered that Megan was meeting her friend there. I went to the intersection.
I waited for the illuminated man. Then I stepped from the curb, counting my steps.
One…two…three… When I reached the other side, I stood still, staring down at my own
white-gray runners.
    The door to Starbucks swung open. I smelled coffee. I like the smell of coffee. It
is one of the few strong smells I like.
    I inhaled.
    I stepped inside, into the warmth. A girl and a woman stood behind the counter. The
girl wore braces on her teeth. This reminded me of Mary-Ella at my old school. She’d
worn purple elastics on her braces. This girl had plain white elastics, a yellowed,
off-white color, and she had two zits on her forehead.
    The woman had dark hair, glasses and a nose ring. Behind her I saw a blackboard with
prices written in pink chalk. In front was a display case with baked goods: molasses
cookies (two), cranberry scones (seven), low-fat crumble (six), brownies (seven).
    The girl with the braces and the two zits spoke to me. “Can I help you?”
    She had blond hair. An earring set with three turquoise beads dangled from her left
ear.
    I wanted to ask if Megan had come in, but both women were strangers. I turned away,
meaning to walk out, but stopped when I saw the back of Megan’s head.
    Actually, this is an assumption. (An assumption is a supposition or hypothesis.)
I assumed it was Megan because 1) the individual appeared female with long dark hair,
2) Megan had said she was coming to Starbucks and 3) a black leather jacket decorated
with a rhinestone skull was slung over the chair.
    The girl I thought was Megan leaned toward a man. He was facing me, so I could see
him quite clearly. He wore a black T-shirt, a black leather vest and two gold chains
around his neck. Sprouts of gray chest hair peeked from the neckline of the black
T-shirt, and a tattoo of an anchor twisted around his left forearm.
    He smiled. His teeth looked crooked and yellow.
    “Megan?” I said.
    The person I’d assumed was Megan looked around.
    It was Megan.
    “Alice? You’re supposed to be in a taxi.”
    “I—”
    I tried to find the words. I knew what I wanted to say. I could have written it.
I could see the words, slippery as minnows, dancing in front of me. My heart hammered.
I heard its boom-boom-boom .
    “Count,” Megan said.
    I put my hand in my pocket and felt for the rocks and the smooth roundness of the
bead necklace. I looked down. I tried to count the red-orange floor tiles.
    “What’s wrong with her?” the man asked.
    “She’ll be okay,” Megan said.
    He swore. The balloon in my lungs got bigger, pushing against my ribs like I was
going to explode.
    “Don’t swear,” Megan said. “It upsets her.”
    He swore again.
    “I—you—” I pushed the words out.
    “What a freak!” He spoke loudly. “C’mon, babe, let’s get outta