And the Story Behind It

When I was in grade school, maybe when I was 8 or 9, one day I was hurrying home all by myself. I saw ahead a girl, a year or two older than me, walking slowly, alone. She was a very quiet girl who didn't have a friend. Because of a babyhood disease, one of her legs was paralysed. She was extremely introvert and I had never heard her utter a word. I was running as fast as I could to catch up with my brother and others to play baseball. I didn't even pay attention to her and I passed her running, when she said in a loud voice, Give them to me. I stopped, shocked. It was the first time I heard her talk. The girl repeated, almost plaintively, Give the legs to me. Suddenly scared to death, I cried out aloud incomprehensible UGHHHHH like a scared dog barking at a scary stranger. I ran away, not once looking back. The sun was setting. I didn't turn around but the image of the silhouetted girl's shadow with a blank, black face, stayed with me. That silhoette, now I know, is my sense of guilt.