i had it right there, she says. i made a green..you know….green, not velvet, you know…
felt, you prompt her.
yes, felt. i put it right there by the…. you know….the music thing.
what is it, you ask.
it’s for the music thing. i kept it there all this while and now it disappeared. you took it. why did you take it.
you take a deep breath. i didn’t take it, you say. it’s around here somewhere.
she starts crying. sits and the table and cries that people are coming in and taking things from her.
you take a deep breath, look at all the stuff yet to be packed. you pat her back, give her a tissue, tell her that it will turn up somewhere. she thinks you’re lying.
you have a headache because you haven’t had a chance to eat breakfast yet and it’s almost lunchtime.
you leave her at the table with her tissues and her fantasies and you go to your place and eat. lunch.
a knock on the door. she comes in with a green felt pouch in her hand, secured with a large gold pin.
i’m sorry, she says and kisses you on the forehead. i found it on the dresser. do you want to see what’s in here, she asks.
sure.
she carefully opens the pouch and pulls out a slim SONY remote.
you don’t tell her that it’s for a tv that she doesn’t even have anymore.
put it in the drawer with the other remotes, you say, and we’ll pack them all together.
oh, no, she says. it’s my first one, she says, smiling, returning to her apartment to, no doubt, misplace it again.
you sit down to finish your glass of homemade orangeade and read a little more delightfully escapist nonsense
the phone rings.
you’re not sleeping, are you?
no, i’m packing, you lie, because she doesn’t seem to like you wasting time reading.
i went to the bathroom, she says, and now i can’t find it.
it’s there somewhere, you say. taking a deep breath. we’ll find it later.
ok, she says. i’m going to lie down for a while.