Two

 Finishing my nightly ritual, thirty-some minutes of sweat and breath as muscles push and pull, I had a sudden thought. The reason I love this room, this house, this stationary bicycle (a mockery of the original, though I’d never thought of it that way before), is the safety.

When I used to run along the pavement, I loved it but I always felt exposed. The home I’d searched for had room enough for playing and sweating inside. I filled it with toys for moving and exhausting myself, and I’d brought this, this contradiction of a bicycle into the room and set it by the window. 

If I wanted to sweat, I didn’t have to step outside the walls.

I pumped my legs, riding nowhere, feeling pale satisfaction. I didn’t even look out the window.