#65

She sits upright on a patterned bench of blue vinyl, gazing ahead at nothing in particular. A brown leather purse sits in her lap, hands rest on the straps. As the bus crowds with morning commuters, she feels the heat, the energy, the anxiety pressing in on her. Her breath becomes shallow. Her pulse quickens. Her eyes dilate. From within her purse she conjures a clear plastic baggy, snaps it open, and lowers her face, bringing her nose close, inhaling deeply the smell of the small yellow flowers within. Eyes closed, she disappears. She is in her garden, sifting black earth, slick worms greasing her fingertips. She can feel the heat of the sun on her neck. She is back. Calmed, she sits straight up, zips the bag, clasps her purse. She sighs and turns to gaze out the window, eyes fluttering at the passing sights outside.