I Brushed Crumbs Off My Lap in the Car

Dear Delyara, I had eaten something quickly after pickup because I could feel myself getting shaky. A cereal bar, maybe half of it, maybe less, the kind of rushed food women live on when proper meals keep being postponed by school, work, traffic, children, and the endless art of fitting the self around everybody else’s schedule. Later, at the red light, I looked down and saw the crumbs on my coat and lap and felt suddenly ashamed. Not because eating in the car is a crime. Because it showed me too clearly how often I now feed myself in fragments. In motion. As an afterthought. As if my own body only deserves interruption-sized care. I brushed the crumbs off and stared ahead until the light changed. Something about that moment stayed with me far longer than it should have.