The path veered to the right. I nearly veered off it. Damn. I was daydreaming again. Not on the bike, Fame! I reprimanded myself. Now refocused, I leaned over and peddled harder up the hill through the tall grass and flowers. Almost there…

I reached the top and clapped my feet on the ground to stop my momentum. The wind was blowing hard. I suddenly regretted not getting a haircut when my mom told me to. What am I trying to prove anyway? My mind flinched back against this remark. I swung my legs over the seat and let the bike fall to the ground. Standing there silently I was forced to reflect on that very question.

What are you trying to prove? Or rather, disprove?

My name.

Why?

I’m just a normal guy. I don’t want to be famous.

What are you hiding from? Why are you afraid?

That is a very good question.