lemon scone

a short story about silence, anxiety, and the gifting of an unwanted baked good

I did the holy macarena of anxiety before I went in: pat on the back right pocket for wallet, pat on the left front pocket for phone, a reach around the side of the backpack to feel for the water bottle, and a tap to my chest for the key lanyard. All the necessities were present, checked for the hundredth time. I’d check if I remembered the backpack too…