What Did She Forget?

Dec 7

Just forgot. Anxious. Fidgets. Blonde hair...thin like sewing thread, scattered like a multitude of untied shoelaces on her cardigan blue sweater. She nibbles her highlighted bang.

The contents of what she "forgot" went missing. But she remembers that she forgot—forgot something. She experiences trepidation. For what if what she forgot "Gets Me,” she ponders.

Like forgetting to lock her apartment door as she shaves her right leg, naked in the shower. Or forgetting to shoo away the spider gingerly embarking towards her shoulder as she lay on the bed. The iPhone buzzed. A glimpse at the iPhone distracted her. Was it even a spider? It’s no longer in her eyesight. What has she forgotten to remember?

And at this instance, she can't recall the notification displayed on the iPhone. This would require another glimpse. And she frets, thinking another glimpse at the iPhone could result in allowing the spider to escape. Or, she could become consumed with the notification and forget the spider entirely, eventually falling asleep, allowing the spider to manipulate the contours of her face, crawling into her mouth or even her nose.

She contemplates the probability of her forgetting that she forgot something. That probability, she contemplates, much higher than the probability of remembering something she has forgotten.

She opens her iPhone, accessing the day’s To-Do List:

Get quarters for laundry

Laundry

Call mom

Pick Lucy up from airport when she calls

Take birth control