Sarah Berry
Hey, it’s me.
Do you remember?
Maybe you don’t.
I’m the girl you overtook so closely in Wimbledon that I could have tapped on your window if I was brave enough to let go of my handlebars.
I’m the girl you veered into the kerb as you rushed to overtake me on that roundabout in Balham.
And the one you sped up to overtake in Earlsfield, only to slam on the brakes at the red light a moment later.
I was coming home with my boyfriend, you see. We’d been out in Cannizaro Park with his sister, niece and baby nephew — celebrating my birthday under autumnal foliage. We should feel elated right now, buoyed by spending time in nature with children still young enough to openly delight in its magic. But instead I’m shaken and he’s forlorn — imaginging what might have happened if I’d been just a little bit less prepared for your carelessness.
:excerptend
