today, as i was descending the stairs of the s-bahn station, i watched a very tiny girl as she gripped one hand of each of her parents'. she was sobbing and letting her knees buckle at each step. her parents mostly carried her down the stairs, her feet just grazing the lip of the steps. i was envious, for a moment, of that kind of support. of having someone who will walk for you, when you can't. or won't. 

i felt a little bit like being carried today. 

but i am a woman, or something like one. and i can carry myself.

i listened for a second to their exchange and i realized she was upset because she had scraped her knee. it was just a little shredded and starting to show beads of blood-- nothing terrible, but i understand the trauma, which is usually more out of surprise than actual pain. her baby german words were frantic and punctured with tears. her parents were telling her they would be home soon and could get her a band-aid.

i know the word for band-aid because katja has a tin of them in the bathroom. sometimes i examine the things that sit on her shelf as i brush my teeth. my shelf is nearly vacant. it is an american shelf with boring american toothpaste and some american face lotion. her shelves seem exotic and fascinating to me. i read the words almost daily. feuchtigkeit. zahnfleischschutz. wattestäbschen. somehow the long, consonant-rich german words transform articles like q-tips and nail polish remover into treasures. amongst all these rarities is a tin of verbände.

my bathroom studying has become practical, when i know they are telling her just to wait for the band-aid until they get home.

i know what it's like to need a band-aid. maybe you're not really bleeding and maybe your wound doesn't really need covering, but sometimes you just need to feel like you're protected. like your pain is both recognized and contained. sometimes you just need a band-aid.

i, being beth, who has everything in her purse and who also likes to interfere in other people's lives, ask in passing ob sie vielleicht einen verband braucht? as i pulled out a small handful of cupcake-shaped bandages, sweet katherine striano bought for me.

she stopped crying immediately, whimpered a bit at her parents if it was okay, and, wide-eyed, selected the one with the pink frosting. her parents, surprised and pleased, told her to say thank you.

and the wounded, cupcake-wearing girl only half-looked at me from her perch on the stairs and said, through the uncontrollable hiccups that follow a very hard cry,

danke.

i said my bitte and just walked away, happy. she did not cry anymore.

i like to think that maybe, should someone see me crying, they too might come to me with a band-aid of sorts and cover my wounds.

it was the highlight of my day. stopping tears and spreading cupcakes through berlin.

an american confection in deutschland.