It was one of those mornings where nothing seemed to go right.
The kids were dragging their feet getting ready for school and missed the bus, so Candace drove them. Sophia had a sopping diaper that got the bottoms of her pajamas wet, and decided to crawl into bed with me to let me know. I burnt my toast and put too much sugar in my coffee.
With haste, I gave my beloved a quick peck and roared out of the driveway. Already, my mind was filled with the agenda of tasks and meetings the day held for me.
No sooner had I turned the wheel towards Downtown, that a sudden dark suspicion gripped me. I couldn`t remember if I had told Candace that I loved her.
Something so intuitive, so automatic, and yet… I couldn`t remember if I had actually said the words. “Even so,” I thought to myself, “it wasn`t said with the conviction that it ought, if it can be so quickly forgotten.”
So I called home, even though I was only a mile or so away, and told her. I smiled to myself at the bemused annoyance in her voice, I suddenly thought about how curious and exasperating I can be sometimes.
I imagine she was consumed with her own action-packed agenda of the day. Not to mention, being in the ninth month of her pregnancy while taking care of a toddler suffering from an ear infection.
Whatever the reason, she neglected to hang the phone up. So… for the length of my commute, I was able to listen in on the sounds of the household for the length of my commute.
I could hear Sophia giggling while watching Mickey Mouse, I could hear Candace packing a box with books from the bookshelf and then trodding the boards `cross the floor to answer a wailing teakettle.
By the time I drove up to my place of business, Sophia had discovered the telephone and, it seemed, was errantly pressing buttons.
As I unlocked the front door of the Club, she finally pressed the button that hung up the phone. At which time I followed suit.
Looking at my cellphone, it blinked 06:54. The length of a call that began with “I love you,” and ended in silence.