We strike out into the night. We are heroes. We emblazon our names into the very stone of these walks.
The air is clanging with our chatter… clashing, crashing filling the stars. I feel the cold Virginia dew between my toes, licking the hem of my skirt. I swirl I flounce I cover myself with our heroism and excited tones of immortality. This is the night of nights.
We walk in the footprints of newborn giants, driven to make our mark.
"We will be legends!"
This is what we want. Our names, our numbers, our prints – some part of identity solid and set in the twenty-something earnestness. We are legends.
Haphazardly we approach the footprints, placing our tiny feet ahead, one at a time. Hannah stands triumphantly in the print, skippingly, trailing her steps behind.
"It’s Epic!"
I shout. My arms thrown into the air, catching my echo.
"People will always remember your steps on this day."
Immortal. Our mission, playing itself over and over again into the future in sandal trails. This is the night that we run into the Virginia night, it’s heavy air, it’s cool tones, and we make our history.