My Mother Texted That I Was Locked Out, but By Morning I Had Made a Few Calls

palm with intention.

“You’re ready,” I say. “And I’m right here. That’s what training is for.”

She exhales a nervous laugh and disappears back under the car. I stand nearby and listen to the sounds: metal finding its place, her muttering measurements under her breath, the satisfying click of the wrench torquing to spec.

This, I think, is what responsibility continue reading …