On the train this morning, I had several flashbacks to the end of September, when I first started releasing words into cyberspace.
I was, as usual, crammed near the door. A girl with a yoga mat had run onto the train a couple one hundredths of a second before me; she was prepared for post-work yoga. She also reads a book a week and only requires five hours of sleep a night. I looked at my reflection in the glass.
It was 8:17. I stared at my phone, forgetting to look around, or maybe just not really wanting to think about more possible worlds at that moment, this morning. I took a breath in. The man next to me breathed out at the same time. I didn’t want to gag (until I started to think), but it wasn’t delicious. I didn’t look at his face; we won’t fall in love, but there was a smashed strawberry on his shoe.
The train stopped. People got on. People got off. We started moving again. I started sweating. I remembered my summer self laughing at the thought of my winter self, still overheating on the train.
I was cold again when I reached the sidewalk. I wanted to turn left, so I turned right instead. Today wasn’t the first time I’d been to these offices, but I’d never before arrived on the first try. This morning, I never needed to turn around.
Haven’t you heard that nobody knows your body like you do? That’s what I’ve heard.