My First Crowd

Came up the subway stairs alone, water bottle, shaky knees, on my own. I made this thing on my kitchen table, half-thought I'd chicken out and turn around. Stepped off the curb half-braced for trouble, ready to shrink, to not make a sound. But the street just opened up like an ocean, thousands of strangers, all of them me — and a kid pressed a sticker into my palm, grinned, said "first one?" — and I couldn't speak. Sunscreen and sugar in the air, and a roar I could feel in my chest — this is my first crowd. I walked in alone and the noise wrapped around, and I stopped looking over my shoulder somehow. I came in one, I'm leaving a thousand — this is my first crowd. Somebody's grandma was holding a banner, somebody danced on the back of a truck. A queen seven feet in her heels leaned down, said "you look incredible, sweetheart, good luck." And right in the middle, I stopped scanning for danger — just stood there and cried in the sun, not the bad kind, the kind you've been saving for the day you found out you weren't the only one. Sunscreen and sugar in the air, and a roar I could feel in my chest — this is my first crowd. I walked in alone and the noise wrapped around, and I stopped looking over my shoulder somehow. I came in one, I'm leaving a thousand — this is my first crowd. And I know there's a kid on a curb somewhere next year, knees just as scared as mine. I'll be the one with the spare stickers, I'll catch their eye in the line. I'll say "first one?" and I'll grin at them — hand the whole thing down the line. This is my first crowd. I walked in alone and the noise wrapped around, and I stopped looking over my shoulder somehow. I came in one, I'm leaving a thousand — this is my first crowd. Confetti in my hair, sun going down. I came in one. I'm a thousand now.