I was seated facing the OCCUPIED light for the train car's restroom. We'd grabbed these seats quickly, not knowing if they were forward-facing or rear-, barely knowing if we were coming or going. Goodbye: New York. Oh, hello: we now return to our regularly scheduled programming. The woman inside couldn't lock the bathroom door. The light wouldn't stop pointing at me. They were forward-facing, we quickly found, and we were on the way home. She never got the door locked.
I almost never step away from my everyday life. When I travel it's with them: the package deal. My family. We travel as five. I rarely travel as one. And then this weekend I was Robin: sum total Robin, not Robin: wife, mother, civil servant.
It's a different thing. I wore impractical shoes and drank vodka late into the night. I set out on foot. I didn't carry tissues.
I had a lot of fun being another me.
MOM tattooed in face paint on her cheek in my absence and another who gifted me with a bracelet of alphabet beads bearing the message ILOVEYOUMOMMY.
I wore it all evening. It dragged through the bathwater as I got them ready for bed.