Her band-aids have fallen off again.
And the world is not okay.
She's desperate for anything to cover her wounds.
Her feet are covered in dirt. I take some soapy gauze to the caked on layers of the day. One half of the foot is miraculously clean, and the other half quite dirty and smelly. She knows they are awfully dirty - "dirtier than boy's feet!" But all she cares about are the blisters.
I clean, apply ointment, and place bigger and better band-aids (I hope) on her aching ten-year-old feet.
Fixed right up,
she walks out,
still wearing the shoes that have rubbed her dirty little feet raw.
