The worlds jumbled around inside her, colliding with each other and brushing up against the remembered guilt, embarrassment, awkwardness of another time and place. As though I could live that all over again and do it differently, she thought. And then what? Because each moment of the past had aligned precisely to bring her to this manifestation of her life, all the steps and missteps, the glorious senior recital and the time she broke her nose walking into the glass door.
And so this moment had arrived, just as each moment before it, filled with potential, yet somehow unique. And she thought, I've burned every bridge. But perhaps that isn't a bad thing. Her jaw relaxed. Past worlds receded and the cafe came back into focus, her laptop sleeping idle on the table in front of her, a couple engaged in low conversation, the metallic chunk chunk of espresso grounds wrenched from compression. And so on, and so on.
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