*cover photo by Matt Flores on Unsplash*
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When I'd snapped out of the trance, I was just a mere step or two from backing right into traffic where cars were zipping by so quickly that I became queasy. I and several other folks had been waiting for the light to turn red at the busy intersection so we could cross the street. The seconds ticked by, and it quickly turned into minutes. I assumed that the light was broken, and like the other people who were growing impatient and had places to be, I might have to run across the street whenever I got a chance.
An older woman made her move. My stomach dropped as the vehicles approached the intersection much faster than she was getting across and to the middle barrier that marked a small spot of safety, a place to rest. My body froze as I fought the feeling that I was about to witness, if not become a part of an impending collision. Only once the woman made it safely to the other side did I come back to myself, back to my body.
I've been praying for rain. I've been praying for the chance to open the windows and let the essence of Mother Nature herself come in. It finally rained here in Mexico City yesterday; however, I hadn't expected the rain to begin when I was going to get my laundry. The streets were crowded with cars that couldn't afford to let the now-slippery pavement slow them down. Walking alongside the cars in a place that doesn't feel particularly pedestrian-friendly sent shock waves to my nervous system. So much of my life in these thirteen-plus years since the accident has been about not trying to repeat what's already happened. I've avoided cars like the plague, and when I find myself in them, my body begins to brace for impact, a parting gift from what happened when I was only twenty.
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