I was riding my bicycle through the countryside, both wooded and open, and felt carefree. Then, suddenly, I was in a home office paneled with dark wood, with electrodes stuck to my chest, having a physical exam. I could tell by the attitude of the doctor and by my labored breathing that the results were not good, that they were in fact terrible. I thought of The Boy and began to wonder if he would walk in and see me like that, and what he would think.
Then I was at a gathering, and a friend came by. Suddenly a stroller rolled up on its own, as though brought by remote control. In it was the baby of another friend. Then The Boy appeared, and instinctively I took off the baby's worsted cap and mittens and counted her fingers. For the first time, The Boy stopped and noticed me, but I did not seem to care much (although I was careful not to mess up counting the fingers).