Seven's Steps I only met Amber once before she shaved her head and became Seven, leaving a pile of short rich-brown, almost red, curls where her old life used to be.

Amber sat in the corner quietly watching me embrace her guitar, serenading a black compressor microphone dangling from the ceiling. My voice, off-key; my strumming, inconsistent; her reaction, pleased. She took the guitar and played a song, something that I’d never heard before, and if I’d never been told it was by Beth Orton, it would have been hers. Amber’s voice was in tune; her strumming was immediate; my reaction was off-key and inconsistent. A flaw in my character, perhaps.

That was the last time I saw Amber, and the last time I saw Seven was likely a year later. She was leaving. To see the world. To escape this mundane life that now I’ve become too accustomed to. At the time, I saw her as a unique and bold spirit. I envied her in so many ways that it ultimately left me embarrassed to be in her company. She didn’t just want to do things, she did them.

By now, I’m sure she’s walked the world. Maybe she’s even come home, but I doubt she stayed for long. And sometimes, even now, I wish that I’d been able to follow her; if not in step then at least in spirit.  ¶ 8:07 AM