Saturday, February 6, 2010

The Compression of Time

Yesterday, I got home from work. I was tired; not much sleep the night before, and the usual day at work had rendered me into a gooey puddle.

Before I could close the inner door, I was accosted.

"Lisa, I've been searching all day. I'm going to have to ask for your help, I'm completely exhausted, I've worn myself out looking."

My mother; her suitably tired face shoved into mine.

"I've turned the house upside down!"

"What now mom?" My voice was expressionless.

" Well...I...well."

Big, huge pause.

"Well, I. Now I don't remember what it was I had to ask you."


"I know I've been looking all day..."

"Mom, let me past. I'm sure you'll remember if it's important."

She stands immobile, blocking my entrance.

"Now I remember! I lost my credit card. They sent me this letter."

Document shoved in my face.

I push her hands away, almost roughly. The claustrophobia is overwhelming in the overcrowded front entranceway.

"It's not a credit card. It's your bank card. I explained that to you when it came in the mail, about 6 weeks ago. I have the card."

"No!" Her voice is curiously offended.

"It came yesterday."

"No, it came 6 weeks ago. And you did exactly this. You got all confused, and I told you then, it's not a credit card. It's your bank card, and you gave it to me for safekeeping."

I push past her, into the larger hallway, so I can breathe again.

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