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Slippery time

January 10, 2012

Time ran hard and fast—as if from a wide-open faucet—drops of it bouncing off the sides of the sink she had fallen into. At one moment, she thought it was Monday, then Saturday, then Thursday. She tried to look at her calendar, but it had plunged from her pocket.

She had lost all sense of agenda when she saw him form the words, when he told her everything hidden. Now, each moment, she vacillated between struggling against the flow and slipping into it, letting it carry her, her eyes closed, until she reached more solid ground downstream.

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