I packed my things for work, got my bike from the balcony, and headed for the door. I stopped in my tracks. Did I leave my stove on? I backed up a couple of steps and craned my neck to look into the kitchen. Stove not on. Something was not right. It came to me that I should call my mother. I leaned my bike up against the wall by the door and walked over to the phone and dialed.
"Oh hi sweetie."
"What are you doing?"
"Just parked my car and I'm walking to pilates - running late. What about you?"
"I'm about to bike to work", I told her, standing there with my helmet on, waiting for something to click; to feel better.
"It's nice and sunny here finally. How is it there?"
"Sunny", I answer, mildly irritated by the small talk. I shift my weight.
"Well that's good! We've had terrible weather."
I don't say anything for a moment.
"Ok Mom. Have fun at pilates. I'll talk to you later?"
"Ok Rachel, ride safe."
I hung up and stood there. I felt like I just gave my mother the final conversation she would replay over and over again and I started to feel bad that I was short with her. I considered calling her back. A second try. Smooth it over, but I changed my mind. You can't keep second guessing yourself. But seriously, maybe I should leave my bike at home. Take the subway. I mean, why take the chance? But things happen on the subway too. A few years ago, a girl was pushed into an oncoming train at King Station by a crazy man. Trains get bombed. Train switches jam. Trains collide.