Contorted wrinkled face, the seventeen year old on her knees bawling like a toddler lost in a supermarket of silhouettes and menace. I pleaded my father to let me go to my dear friend’s and he thought I was just trying to make a show as an excuse to see her. My mum only spat venom envy for seeking comfort in her lavender care, but how could my mum be there when she was on the opposite side of the country? So there I was limp arm dragging my shimmery beige bag and huffing hurt alone on the sidewalk. She, the brightest shadowed figure is there walking open armed and I’m safe.