The sun on my face, the wind in my hair. I’m… smiling. A rush that my 30mg of Cymbalta® could never induce courses through my veins. This, this, is living. For the first time, I’m living.

I’m at the top of Bancroft, just in front of IHouse pensively. A lime scooter stands a few feet down the sidewalk, rising gracefully up from the cement, the sun balancing atop its handlebars. I am reminded of images of the cross splayed across pamphlets handed out by the Christians on Sproul. A sea of commuting students parts irritably around it, a kid I think I had a discussion section with last year nearly trips. I involuntarily reach for it, pull my hand back. I couldn’t possibly… that isn’t me. I’m not one of those happy-go-lucky, free spirits I’ve watched glide across campus like sparrows. No, that sort of freedom was never meant for me. Unless…

I reach out again. Don’t think. The metal handlebars are cool to the touch. My heart is pounding. I’m downloading the app. I’m doing it. My fingers tremble as I scan the QR code to unlock the scooter, and with it, my future. I step on. Take a shaky breath. I kick off. 

Flying—I’m flying! My thumb adjusts the toggle. Faster. The law school wizzes by. Strada. Barrows. Sproul. Students are diving out of my path. Expletives are shouted at me and lost in the wind. I. Don’t. Care. I shoot past Blackwell. Gone are my anxieties, my constant self-loathing, the underlying apathy I’ve felt doing everything for as long as I can remember. The scooter is electric. I’m electric. I’m passing the Tang center, now Great China, Corepower, CVS. Berkeley high looms ahead of me and I finally roll to a stop. I’m breathing hard, my eyes are wild. I collapse to the ground, sobbing, laughing. I get up slowly and step back on. I roll off into the setting sun.

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