The crying haunted her. It permeated her being giving her no rest. Usually at night, when the rest of the world was asleep, she felt the call. Tonight, it was more desperate than it had ever been before. She got up, slipped on her jeans and her flat, knee hi black boots. She glanced back at him. so ecstatically happy that they were finally together. She drank him in with her eyes before quietly closing the door behind her.
She jumped into her black 1967 mustang and began driving slowly, it seemed, toward the sound of the crying. It was at Forest Park. She got out and walked into the darkness. No longer hypersensitive she could easily walk towards the sounds of sobbing.
A small figure was in the near distance. Shoulders shaking, hands over what she could see was a little girl’s face. She walked slowly toward the child. Something was tickling the back of her mind. Seemed very familiar.
As the little girl turned around.
She saw her own face. Younger. Broken.
Her own shero now, she gathered her younger self up in her arms. Young Shanti’s arms wrapped around her knight in urban armor. She was finally safe now, in the arms of the only woman who could, indeed save her.
My wonder woman was me.