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April only glimpsed the police from the top of the stairs, she says,"but I remember <br /> looking out the window and seeing all the lights on those cars-just flashing." <br /> I thanked April for her time, promised to give her a copy of my writing, and walked <br /> outside into the July sunshine not knowing quite what to do with myself.This woman, a stranger <br /> picked at random,just shared very intimate moments of her childhood with me. She trusted me <br /> to take her words and write about them- about her. <br /> I don't know her, and I don't know the rest of her life.All I have are these snippets- <br /> something glorious,and something frightening, from when she was very young.Two small slices <br /> of experience that I relate to on a deep level. <br /> There is the dark, fearful seclusion of listening to a marriage crumble from the other side <br /> of closed doors and bedroom walls-but also that first, exhilarating solo ride around the block. <br /> Unhindered by training wheels-we try to go faster, faster so those pink and purple handlebar <br /> tassels fly straight back.And of you pedal hard enough, even the rain can't scare the sun away <br /> from your joyful,upturned face. <br />