I sat in the car because I couldn’t go straight in

Dear Delyara, The house was there. The lights were on. Nothing terrible was waiting for me. And still I stayed in the car with the engine off and my hands in my lap because I could not make myself walk straight into the evening. Work had been too people-heavy. One rude tone had stuck to me. My back hurt. My face hurt from being pleasant. I knew the second I opened the front door I would become needed again, and I just didn’t have the energy to switch versions of myself that quickly. So I sat there for five minutes and felt guilty for needing a border before my own front door. Then I went inside and pretended that pause hadn’t been necessary. It had been.