I’m going to die, I thought.
If only I entered a different bathroom. If only I could hold it any longer.
If only the bathroom door would OPEN.
I kicked and pushed and pushed – the door wouldn’t budge.
I broke down – I was going to die, alone in a bathroom. Leaning on the door crying, the door slid a tiny bit to the right. What? The door was slidable, not swingable? Embarrassed, I walked out. I definitely got weird looks for talking so long.
My twelve-year-old self wouldn’t think much of my overreaction then, but I would later realize the truth:
I was terrified of death.
