After crashing my motorcycle into a batch of shrubbery; after shooing away all the frightened caretakers; after reassuring the human resources administrator who saw me crash the bike and came running over with wild eyes that I was okay; after trying to calm the small crowd that had begun to form around me: "yes, yes, I will still ride this bike home—yes, yes, it's my first time, I think that's pretty clear—no, I won't be alone—," I picked up the vehicle, rammed the crooked key slot back into what I assumed was its rightful position and scootered my way towards the entrance. Blake was there in the distance with a fat grin on his face.
"Blake!" I yelled, still flushed. "I—I can't do this!"
He grinned even wider. "Yes, you can!"
"... I—I also think I'm on the wrong side of the road!"
"Yes!" he called back. He was laughing at me openly now. "Yes, you are! That's okay!"
***
10 minutes later:
"Come here! Here! This lane!"
"No—what—I missed it, noooooooo—"
"That's okay! Just try to get here while the light's still red, we have to turn right at some point—"
I shuffle my motorcycle with my feet in the middle of traffic. Now it sits almost horizontally in front of a car.
"... Bo-Won, that's not—"
"I know, I KNOW. I'm trying—I don't know!"
Somehow, I wriggle the bike around to face the road diagonally.
"Just... accelerate really slowly when the light turns green. You're fine. You're absolutely fine."
"Oh my god. Oh my fucking god."
"You're great! You're doing great."
"FUCK—"
***
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