“I am trying something new.”

The garage smelled of dust and motor oil.

I found a chalk drawing on the concrete beside the bike, half erased by months of weather.

It showed a crooked sun and a stick figure with impossibly long legs.

I remembered Maya telling me that grown-ups were difficult to draw because they took up too much space.

I stood there longer than I expected, mourning the days before she knew adults could be frightening.

Then I packed the bicycle carefully.