Another way to look at things

Megan was staring out the window in the backseat of her mom’s minivan with a blank expression painted across her silent face. She shivered at the thought of spending her whole summer vacation at her grandma’s house.

I was 11—just a little girl playing on the swing set. I saw the picnic table, a white mother and her daughter were walking toward me. They were getting closer and closer as their baritone steps bared down on the rough pavement.