I don't know what I did. But everyone was angry with me about something. It didn't seem to be about anything in particular. It seemed to be about everything in general.
J_____ wouldn't speak to me. For days we'd been locked in one of those silent fights. No matter what I said or did, it was all met with a stony wall.
My mother was furious with me, too. We were making lunch together and she was banging things around in the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors, refusing to look me in the eye, turning her back to me, with her lips pinched shut in that way I remember from childhood.
Even strangers seemed to be holding a grudge. A woman I'd never met before, who'd organized a group of bike commuters at the office, didn't want me to be part of it. After asking why several times she finally admitted that she'd heard some bad things about me. She didn't think I would be a good fit for the group, and suggested I just try to enjoy riding my bike to work alone.
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