Jessamyn sat on a bench in the middle of the city park, having counted the cement blocks it had taken to get from the curb next to the lot where she’d parked the car to the bench she was on now (twelve). The path was curved, bordered on either side by neatly manicured grass that was a chemical green, suggesting it had been so drenched in insecticide that it was likely a danger to the various dogs that people brought through the park. She was wearing headphones, the kind with the soft cups that covered her ears entirely, but she wasn’t listening to anything except the rolling hum of the silence they created. The goal wasn’t to let sound in, but rather to keep sound out, because the world was overwhelming enough without having to process the sound of cars and trucks rolling past on the street that was far enough away to not be a real danger but close enough to cause her anxiety to dial up, just a little, when what she just wanted to do was sit in peace on this park bench and not think too much about the toxins in the air from the insecticide and rather just enjoy the warmth of the sun on her cheeks and the light breeze on her skin, and to just be, to just embrace the now without having to push through all the maybes of the future and the why-did-i’s of the past. And so, eyes closed, legs crossed into applesauce, tennis shoes on the ground beneath her, that is what she did: She simply was. For those fleeting moments, she simply was.