I used to go to the office everyday. But then the office closed. Developers bought the building. I dropped off my keys. I went home for a little while. I watched TV with my Dad and fell asleep early. I finished a book in one sitting. I washed the dishes after dinner. I went to the dentist and my gums bled. It dripped down to my chin. The dentist wiped it off with her blue rubber thumb. I felt a pain in my lower abdomen. I tried to parallel park in front of the CVS. An old friend came to the house with flowers. He looked around and then to us. And said I’m so glad you’re okay. We ate leftover pizza at the dining room table. I slept on the couch and watched the cars from the window drive down York Street. I ate lunch with school friends who lived with their boyfriends. I went back to New York. I massaged my lower abdomen. The doctor sent me to the radiology center. I took off my jeans and underwear in the radiology locker room and tucked them under my arm. A woman named Natalie told me it would feel cold. I bought a sandwich and ate it at the Little Island Amphitheater. And the doctor called to say it was normal. I told her to find something wrong. Give me something to fix. I helped my friends move out of their apartment in Bushwick. We bought Gatorades at the deli and chugged them on the corner. I still went to bed early and slept in late. And I still felt exhausted all day. I laid on my back on the living room floor and played music from the bluetooth speaker. I listened to the dad next door yell at his daughter. It rained every day. I walked around Bed-Stuy and bought expensive cookies from a bakery. I felt a sharp pain in my right ankle. I thought about the way the outer side of my foot touches the ground first. I overcorrected. My roommate and I walked home from buying new used clothes. And we found a kitten. She was stuck in the hood of a car. Tucked under the engine. She cried all night long. I told everyone I knew. I drew out the story. About the woman in the car. And the 311 call. And my friend with the cat treats. And the police officers. We named her Diesel. She slept under the couch and bit our fingers. I bought beers and drank them in the shower. I printed out all the pages of my book. I cut out paragraphs with scissors and rearranged them on my bedroom floor. I took out a pen and asked myself, Where are the fucked up thoughts? I circled them in blue. I stuck my fingers in hot candle wax. And peeled it off once it cooled. I looked at my body in the mirror. I lifted up my shirt and looked at my stomach. I ran around in circles. And thought soon I’ll run outside again. I followed along to YouTube pilates videos. I downloaded a driving simulator game on my phone. I practiced parallel parking and merging onto the freeway. I remembered to check my mirrors and turn on my blinker. I lost points for speeding. I kept playing until I had enough coins to buy a convertible. I drove the convertible through simulated downtown Chicago. I called my mom and she said it sounded like I was doing okay.
