The Timex
Two days after my parents’ funeral, I came home from a twelve hour hospital shift and found my life stacked in damp cardboard in the garage. The boxes were crooked and half open, already taking on rain through the gap where the garage door didn’t seal properly. One had split at the bottom.
Another had tipped onto its side, spilling old notebooks and shoes onto the concrete. My nursing diploma had a soft bend through the middle where the frame glass must have pressed against it. Three textbooks were swollen at the edges.
The blue flowered tin my mother kept in a kitchen drawer had popped open, and her recipe cards were curled with moisture, the ink beginning to feather at the corners. Chicken and dumplings. Lemon loaf.
Sunday pot roast. Notes in the margins in her careful handwriting. Add more thyme.
Briana likes extra pepper. I stood there in my scrubs, too tired to be angry yet, and looked throug
What happened next changed everything…
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