Locked Out, Not Alone
I pull on the car door handle. Locked. I try the passenger door. Locked, too. I peer inside and see the small red purse containing my keys sitting right beside my bag of frozen fish and bunch of fuchsia tulips. I feel the familiar ache in my gut— the one I get when I can’t solve my problem alone and I’m to blame for the cause of it. Someone was about to be inconvenienced because of. my thoughtlessness, carelessness, or sheer stupidity. My loathing of being a bother is so great that I once walked for miles in my party
