INTRO THROUGH ABSENCE:

I don't have a checkbook. I don't have a belly button piercing, or a non-stick frying pan, or a Sunday service to attend, or a baby, or a dog or cat or beta fish, or a push-up bra. I don't have any living grandparents or a driver’s license or perfect vision. I don't have a favorite band or a bucket list or a laptop or a television or a regular period. I do not have painted fingernails or painted toenails or a diary or a dream journal or the deed to any sort of property. I do not have a previous arrest or a video of me sky-diving. I do not have a gluten intolerance or difficulty digesting dairy. I do not have a backyard or an attention deficit disorder or an accountant or work colleagues or an engagement ring. I do not have a deviated septum or a favorite president or pictures of me farming in an exotic country as payment for living on the land. I do not have one person, living or dead, that I'd most like to have dinner with. I do not have an ex-husband or a recognizable birthmark. I do not have an MFA or a favorite scene from The Godfather because I’ve never watched it and I probably never will. I do not have shared custody or the number of a man I met at a bar or the internal scars of a terminated pregnancy. I do not have a backup plan or a bar cart or a nightstand or surround-sound speakers or a bone that was once broken or a heart that needs healing. I do not have a sign from the universe. I do not have something to believe in.

I do not have something to believe in. But still. I am running at the subway doors even though they are just about to close. I am running because there is still a chance. I am running because there is still enough room for my palm to slide through and change absolutely everything.

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