East 3

That night I couldn't sleep, both because of the alien position my body was in and because of my excitement. I snuck out of our unlocked and unowned house at what I guessed to be at least three in the morning. What teemed in my heart was not the heat of rebellion, however, it was adventure. My wheels felt happily anxious in my palms, as if they too were impatiently waiting to see what we hadn't seen yet. When I closed the door behind me, that faint click echoing in the busy night and the humid cloud of early summer choking my clothes, I felt a scream come bubbling up like a burp that I had to swallow. My heart was urging to meet my teeth.
Suddenly I was moving, willed forward by something great and uncontainable in my chest and windpipe. A laugh scurried out of me that sounded weak but felt glorious beyond the thousands of Suns lighting the world at this hour. I didn't know what to do with myself, so I just let myself do what I wanted in the lonely street. After a while of running with my arms, my thoughts turned around and looked backward instead of forward. I was back at the orphanage, but this time I visited my memories with curiosity and not fear, although the two usually go hand-in-hand. I remembered how cold and how hard the floor I slept on was, how I could swear the smooth concrete was pushing up at me with every shaky breath I drew. Now my seriously oversized T-shirt that Can found in a cafe was feeling like silk on a crippled king's skin. Even though I lived in a house that no one took care of but that everyone used, I felt like bad times were a thing reserved for the past. Under the gray moon and dulled stars and electric Suns, I was relieved.
I started pacing under the influence of a streetlight, letting my thoughts lead me by the hand through boulevards of love, gratitude, happiness, and I somehow avoided the thought that wondered why I was entitled to these things, because when I stopped my wheels to look at the stranger, those feelings flew forward without a seatbelt. The young man walking across the one-way street from me was older than I was, but I could tell he was younger in confidence. He hunched his shoulders, kept his hands hidden and his eyes low. Can had taught me that meeting people without saying hello was rude, so I did it.
"Hi," I said loud enough for him to hear. He timidly raised an open palm at me and manufactured a cheap and plastic smile that I could easily distinguish. I'd learned that genuine friendship and happiness and basically anything that can coagulate into a grin actually doesn't show itself in the white of one's teeth, nor the width of one's lips; true smiles were in the eyes. And this young man's eyes were of the concrete. "Whatchya doin'?"
"Just walking," his voice sounded distant across the twenty-foot chasm. I wasn't scared of him, I wasn't even curious. I just watched, watched this strange occurrence unfold. He never stopped walking the whole time.
"Hmph," was all I had to say. He continued on his way, and I watched him go, strutting down the road like the moon across the stars.