How would God respond to making a mistake? Would planets collide or mountains slide into the sea? Or would the ledger of all life simply remain out kilter until a series of small events forced that ledger back into balance again? It's probably the l...
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The drive back was fine. As I entered the city, I was happy to see that nothing had changed. It was little warmer and spring was a few days closer, but all the buildings and the sidewalks had the feel of clothes worn for several days. The smell would be there and the creases and angles would fit. And there might have been a layer or two of extra dirt, but it didn't matter because this place was so familiar that I could practically see the changes happening.
At the same time though, the things I had thought were so important when I was away began to disappear. The dead shark was being eaten by other fish. The blood was washed away. The wind and waves had erased my footprints. And the sand dunes were firmly on the ground. They were never really flying. I don't know why I thought they were.
When I parked in front of our building, the sun was low in the sky. It was the same angle as when I left, except that this time it was on the other side of the world. Orange streaks of light split the trees and buildings. It was bright and I looked away. I closed one eye like when I dressed as a pirate for Halloween. On the dark side of the sky, I saw the Moon of the Snowblind. It was a little smaller than two days before and it sat there quietly watching over me.
Before I opened the car door, I reached over and touched the crack where you hit your head on the dashboard. It would be easy to fix. Fill it and then paint it over. That's all it would take. Then I took the remains of the two daffodils from my pocket and tossed them onto the dashboard. They left streaks as they skimmed across the dust.
The steps to our building had cracks in all the familiar places. When I pressed the bell, I noticed a line of dirt trailing down the wall and intersecting with scores of other lines like teardrops at a funeral. Those lines seemed to jump off the steps and onto the walls. It was as if the tiny breaks in the marble became cracks in the brick. Marks like vines creeping around me. Holding me in place.
Then you opened the door. "Oh, it's you—"
Your voice was gentle. You bent toward me and whispered, "You can kiss me if you want."
There was only one thing to do. Honestly, it was the only thing that made sense. I hugged you first. Or at least, I think I did. Regardless, I know that I peeked over your shoulder. I wanted to see if any of the cats had come to greet me. It was a silly idea. I know that now. Because normally, all six of them would have swarmed around my ankles. But this time, they didn't come. None of them. Then all of a sudden, the rhythm was back (the DO-RE-MI) and I knew I couldn't stop it unless I kissed you. To make everything quiet again, I pressed your lips against mine and watched the clouds run backwards in the sky.
