Have you ever forgotten your phone?
When did you realize you'd forgotten it? I'm guessing you didn't just smack your forehead and exclaim 'damn' apropos of nothing. The realization probably didn't dawn on you spontaneously. More likely, you reached for your phone, pawing open your pocket or handbag, and were momentarily confused by it not being there. Then you did a mental re step of the morning's events.
Shit.
In my case, my phone's alarm woke me up as normal but I realized the battery was lower than I expected. It was a new phone and it had this annoying habit of leaving applications running that drain the battery over night. So, I put it on to charge while I showered instead of my bag like normal. It was a momentary slip from the routine but that was all it took. Once in the shower, my brain got back onto 'the routine' it follows every morning and that was it.
Forgotten.
This wasn't just me being clumsy, as I later researched, this is a recognized brain function. Your brain doesn't just work on one level, it works on many. Like when you're walking somewhere, you think about your destination and avoiding hazards, but you don't need to think about keeping your legs moving properly. If you did, the entire world would turn into one massive hilarious QWOP cosplay. I wasn't thinking about regulating my breathing, I was thinking whether I should grab a coffee on the drive to work (I did). I wasn't thinking about moving my breakfast through my intestines, I was wandering whether I'd finish on time to pick up my daughter Emily from the nursery after work or get stuck with another late fee. This is the thing; there is a level in your brain that just deals with routine, so that the rest of the brain can think about other things.
Think about it. Think about your last commute. What do you actually remember? Little, if anything, probably. Most common journeys blur into one, and recalling any one in particular is scientifically proven to be difficult. Do something often enough and it becomes routine. Keep doing it and it stops being processed by the thinking bit of the brain and gets relegated to a part of the brain dedicated to dealing with routine. Your brain keeps doing it without you thinking about it. Soon, you think about your route to work as much as you do keeping your legs moving when you walk. As in, not at all.
Most people call it autopilot. But there's danger in that. If you have a break in your routine, your ability to remember and account for the break is only as good as your ability to stop your brain from going into routine mode. My ability to remember my phone on the counter is only as reliable as my ability to stop my brain entering 'morning routine mode' which would dictate that my phone is actually in my bag. But I didn't stop my brain from entering routine mode. I got in the shower as normal. Routine started. Exception forgotten.
Autopilot engaged.
My brain was back in the routine. I showered, I shaved, the radio forecast amazing weather, I gave Emily her breakfast and loaded her into the car (she was so adorable that morning, she complained about the 'bad sun' in the morning blinding her, saying it stopped her having a little sleep on the way to nursery) and left. That was the routine. It didn't matter that my phone was on the counter, charging silently. My brain was in the routine and in the routine my phone was in my bag. This is why I forgot my phone. Not clumsiness. Not negligence. Nothing more my brain entering routine mode and over-writing the exception.
Autopilot engaged.
I left for work. It's a sweltering hot day already. The bad sun had been burning since before my traitorously absent phone woke me. The steering wheel was burning hot to the touch when I sat down. I think I heard Emily shift over behind my driver's seat to get out of the glare. But I got to work. Submitted the report. Attended the morning meeting. It's not until I took a quick coffee break and reached for my phone that the illusion shattered. I did a mental re step. I remembered the dying battery. I remembered putting it on to charge. I remembered leaving it there. My phone was on the counter.
Autopilot disengaged
Again, therein lies the danger. Until you have that moment, the moment where you reach for your phone and shatter the illusion, that part of the brain is still in routine mode. It has no reason to question the facts of the routine; that's why it's a routine. Attrition of repetition. It's not as if anyone could say 'why didn't you remember your phone? Didn't it occur to you? How could you forget? You must be negligent '; this is to miss the point. My brain was telling me the routine was completed as normal, despite the fact it wasn't. It wasn't that I forgot my phone. According to my brain, according to the routine, my phone was in my bag. Why would I think to question it? Why would I check? Why would I suddenly remember, out of nowhere, that my phone was on the counter? My brain was wired into the routine and the routine was that my phone was in my bag.
The day continued to bake. The morning haze gave way to the relentless fever heat of the afternoon. Tarmac bubbled. The direct beams of heat threatened to crack the pavement. People swapped coffees for iced smoothies. Jackets discarded, sleeves rolled up, ties loosened, brows mopped. The parks slowly filled with sunbathers and BBQ's. Window frames threatened to warp. The thermometer continued to swell. Thank fuck the offices were air conditioned.
But, as ever, the furnace of the day gave way to a cooler evening. Another day, another dollar. Still cursing myself for forgetting my phone, I drove home. The day still baked the inside of the car, releasing a horrible smell from somewhere. When I arrived on the driveway, the stones crunching comfortingly under my tires, my wife greeted me at the door.
"Where's Emily?"
Fuck
As if the phone wasn't bad enough. After everything I had left Emily at the fucking nursery after all. I immediately sped back to the nursery. I got to the door and started practicing my excuses, wandering vainly if I could charm my way out of a late fee. I saw a piece of paper stuck to the door.
"Due to vandalism overnight, please use side door. Today only."
Overnight? What? The door was fine this morni-.
I froze. My knees shook.
Vandals. A change in the routine.
My phone was on the counter.
I hadn't been here this morning.
My phone was on the counter.
I'd driven past because I was drinking my coffee. I'd not dropped off Emily.
My phone was on the counter.
She'd move her seat. I hadn't seen her in the mirror.
My phone was on the counter.
She'd fallen asleep out of the bad sun. She didn't speak when I drove past her nursery.
My phone was on the counter.
She'd change the routine.
My phone was on the counter.
She'd changed the routine and I'd forgotten to drop her off.
My phone was on the counter.
9 hours. That car. That baking sun. No air. No water. No power. No help. That heat. A steering wheel too hot to touch.
That smell.
I walked to the car door. Numb. Shock.
I opened the door.
My phone was on the counter and my daughter was dead.
Autopilot disengaged.
