The beginning of wanting to belong.

Both of my tiny hands gripped so tight around an old rusty 3-foot high skinny black metal railing.  It feels cold, but I hold it tighter and tighter.  Squeezing my toes, wedging them underneath the bottom rail in anticipation.  I'm looking straight ahead patiently waiting for when school will let out and all the little kids will begin to walk home.  My eyes strongly directed across the road focused intently towards the top of the hill on the right side.  Waiting.  Soon enough I can see it starting.  A few children are walking up and over the hill, then more quickly follow.  There are so many of them now, two together, four together, even six together in groups.  All talking and laughing.  Were they all good friends?  My heart races.  How I want to be a part of those groups.   How I want it to be my turn to walk up and over that hill. Loud voices yelling back and forth.  Then one child leaves and runs to the group ahead.  Why?  Were they bad friends?  It's all so intriguing.  Each group passes by and then that's all.  Everyone has gone home.  There are no more. It's time for me to turn and go back home.  But wait, I can see one more slowly trudging up that hill.  Holding a book in one hand and slowly swinging their lunchbox in the other.  All alone is that last child. No one to laugh with and no one to talk to.  No friends.   My heart slows down.  It's a different kind of feeling.  One that I want to understand more.  Why are they all alone?  I can be their friend.  Each day I continue to watch them come up and over that hill and imagine the time it would be my turn to make that same long walk with good friends, bad friends, or no friends, all alone.