That Bad Feeling

She was standing on the subway platform waiting for the train when a man walked up and stood next to her. She looked over at him and immediately got a bad feeling, a feeling like the hair on the back of her neck was standing up. She froze.

He looks just like that guy in that security photo they posted of the man who randomly pushed someone onto the tracks right in front of the F train yesterday! Oh god! I think it's him!

She became acutely aware of how close she was to the yellow line along the edge of the platform and began to slowly back up. She nervously glanced over at the man, who was now looking back at her, as she inched her way backwards towards the staircase with the Exit sign.

Oh god he’s looking at me I’ve gotta get out of here right now

She turned and walked briskly up the stairs and through the turnstile. As soon as she got outside, immediately started running the entire ten blocks back to her apartment, where she immediately bolted her front door and decided she didn't really feel like meeting up with her friend Sarah in the East Village for dinner after all. 

After sitting down, her head pounding from the exertion and the adrenaline, she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. 

I'm so glad I got out of there in time. That dude was definitely bad news. I hope no one got hurt. Should I call the cops? He might hurt someone else! What if I don't report him? I'd be responsible. Oh god. 

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed 911.

"911, what's your emergency?" 

"Um, hi, I was just at the Fort Hamilton subway stop on the Manhattan side and I am almost positive that I saw that guy who pushed someone onto the tracks yesterday, and he looked like he was going to do it again, so I ran away, but I wanted to tell the police so they could get to him before he hurts someone else so that's why I'm calling you and I really hope nothing else bad has happened..." 

"Ma'am, we appreciate the call, but that man was apprehended this morning and is in police custody," the operator stated flatly, interrupting her. "Is there anything else we can help with?"

She took a deep breath and sighed. "No, thank you, goodbye."

After about 20 minutes, a cup of tea, and several text messages from Sarah - "I'm already here! I got us a table out front!" "Are you REALLY going to bail on me?" (this one was followed by several angry emoji faces) - she felt better, and resolved to set off again for the subway. 

Things were going fine until she got about four blocks away and realized that the bad feeling had returned. 

Did I turn off the stove after I boiled the water for tea? I can't remember turning off the stove. Did I do it? I can't remember I must have left the stove on oh god! What if I burn down my apartment? What if I burn down the whole building? I have to go back! 

She turned and fled back home, flustered and red-faced and terrified, her mind racing.

By the time she got to her front door she was in tears. She fumbled with the keys and ran in, heading straight for the kitchen. All of the oven burners were quiet, each knob firmly set to "OFF". She stared at the stove. The feeling was still there. So what could it be? What was this feeling telling her? Her mind was racing. 

Maybe I should turn off the power strip in the kitchen

And the one in the bedroom too 

What if something goes wrong with the electricity while I'm gone? 

Her eyes darted around the living room. She looked at her air purifier.

What if it short-circuits too and starts a fire? 

She unplugged it and ran into the bedroom, her eyes still scanning for the source of the bad feeling. Her cat sat on the bed, watching her impassively.

What if someone sees me leave and decides to break in?

She checked the locks on all of her windows and went back into the kitchen, scrutinizing the stove yet again.

What if it's not completely off, and gas starts to leak and causes an explosion?

She carefully touched every burner knob, feeling it click on and off again, just to make sure it was completely in the "OFF" position.

Finally satisfied, she walked out the door for the third time, but as she rounded the corner the feeling was still there. Something still wasn't right. This time, she knew immediately what it was.

Oh god! I didn't put the toilet seat down!  

Her mind spiraled dizzyingly with a story that sprung into her mind, fully formed, complete with horrifying imagery that caused her to involuntarily shudder and cry out. A man walking by looked at her strangely, and then kept walking. She had stopped completely in the middle of the sidewalk and was now staring blankly into space.

Does the cat have enough water in her bowl?

What if she gets thirsty and doesn't have water 

She might try to get some from the toilet

What if the toilet seat fell on top of her and she drowned or suffocated inside of the toilet bowl?

It would be all my fault oh god

As she sprinted back up the three flights of steps back to her apartment, her phone started to ding. "Where are you?" "What's your ETA?" "I'm going to order, I'm starving!"

Dammit Sarah, leave me alone! I'm trying to save my cat from drowning!

She headed straight for the bathroom and slammed the toilet seat. She then turned and looked into the bedroom, where her cat remained in the same position on the bed, surveying her with indifference. She sat down next to him and sighed. "Oh Cosmo," she said to him. "I guess it's just going to be you and me tonight." She pulled her phone out of her pocked and texted Sarah.

"Something happened with the subway and I got delayed, " she wrote. "Things got too crazy so I am just heading back home. Hope dinner is good, sorry I missed you! Let's meet next week!"

* * * * * *

The next morning, she relayed her story to her therapist, who sat in a chair several feet away, staring at her with the same dispassionate look as Cosmo so often displayed.

"Have you ever considered," the therapist stated - in a tone that seemed more like a statement than an actual question - "that perhaps all of these 'bad feelings' you are having about all of these potential catastrophes are merely the byproduct of an acute case of anxiety?"

What?

She snapped out of her storytelling reverie and looked right at him.

That can't be right. Isn't that why they call them "gut feelings"?

"Just think about it," he said, a little more gently. "See you next week?"

She was walking out of her therapist's building when her phone pinged. She pulled it out of her pocket and clicked on the message notification from Sarah.

"It's actually probably a good thing you didn't make it to dinner last night. I think I got food poisoning and I've been up all night puking!"

She stared at her phone, triumphant. "I knew it!" she announced to no one in particular. "I knew I needed to trust my feelings!"