Get Back On That Bike.

My Agent Is So Totally Honest, Which Is Just What Every Writer Needs. She Won't Let Me Sell A Crappy Book, Even If I Want To.

But She Wouldn't. I Knew That Already. My Mother And I Had An Understanding: We Worked Together To Be As Much In Control Of Our Shared World As Possible. I Was Suposed To Be Her Other Half, Carrying My Share Of The Weight. In The Last Few Weeks, I'd Tried To Shed It, And Doing So Sent Everything Off Kilter. So Of Course She Would Pull Me Tighter, Keeping Me In My Place, Because Doing So Meant She Would Always Be Sure, Somehow, Of Her Own.

During This Time We've Been Apart, It's You I've Thought Of When I'm At My Weakest, And You Who Have Pulled Me Through.

My Mother Has Always Been The Point I Calibrated Myself Against. In Knowing Where She Was, I Could Always Locate Myself, As Well. These Months She'd Been Gone, I Felt Like I'd Been Floating, Loose And Boundaryless, But Now That I Knew Where She Was, I Kept Waiting For A Kind Of Certainty To Kick In. It Didn't. Instead, I Was More Unsure Than Ever, Stuck Between This New Life And The One I'd Left Behind.

There's Something Nice About The Silence Of A Car Ride In The Dark, Going Home. When You Were Tired Of The Radio And Conversation, And It Was Okay To Just Be Alone With Your Thoughts And The Road Ahead. If You're That Comfortable With Someone, You Don't Have To Talk.