Every morning, without fail, they take their walk. You’ve come to recognize the routine as clearly as the rise of the sun. At exactly 9:30 a.m., a small group from the local adult daycare makes their way down the quiet street, following the path that leads them right past your living room window. The sound of gentle chatter and laughter carries faintly through the glass, the occasional squeak of sneakers on the pavement announcing their approach before they appear.
You sit at the table with your morning coffee, pretending to read the news on your tablet. It’s a good excuse to linger near the window. The group strolls closer, and you already know where they’ll stop — the patch of grass directly across the street, just a few feet from the edge of the sidewalk.
There they are. Two of the girls, always in the lead, with their bright dresses, crinkling faintly as they walk. Their caretaker, a cheerful woman in her mid-thirties, keeps an eye on the rest of the group, chatting away as the others catch up. But your attention is fixed on the pair in front. Without fail, they pause at the same spot.
You glance over your shoulder to make sure no one else is home, then lean back slightly in your chair, your view of the street unobstructed. The girls squat down, lifting their dresses fully to their waists as they lower themselves to the ground. The pastel designs of their nappies are on full display, catching the sunlight. You know what’s coming, and your breath catches slightly, even though you’ve seen it so many times before.
One of them giggles softly, adjusting her stance as her face scrunches in concentration. The other follows suit, her expression one of pure relaxation. It’s unmistakable what they’re doing, and you can see the backs of their nappies begin to swell visibly as they continue. The faint sound of crinkling mixes with the occasional small puff of air as they both mess their nappies without hesitation. The first girl glances over her shoulder, not at you, but toward her friend, who laughs again, her posture shifting as she finishes.
The caretaker notices and smiles indulgently, waving a hand in the air as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. She checks on the others while the two girls stand back up, their nappies clearly heavier now. With the same innocent energy as before, they let their dresses fall back into place and rejoin the group, chatting as though nothing happened.
You should feel guilty for how much you enjoy watching this routine. You know it’s a strange thing to look forward to, but something about their carefree attitude, their unselfconsciousness, captivates you. A friend once asked why you didn’t move away, complaining that the smell from across the street would be unbearable. You laughed it off, saying you’d gotten used to it, but the truth is, the view is worth it.
The thought crosses your mind again as you sip your coffee. Maybe you should head down to the adult daycare one day. They’re always looking for volunteers, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to spend more time around such a lively group. The idea makes your stomach flip slightly, though you’re not sure if it’s excitement or nerves.
You shake the thought away as the group gathers their things and starts moving again, their laughter fading as they round the corner. The street grows quiet, but the warmth of their presence lingers, like the sun streaming through your window.
Maybe one day, you think, sipping the last of your coffee. Maybe one day you’ll find out.
