I keep forgetting we need floss and baby carrots
Until I brush my teeth or fix my husband’s lunch.
Starting a list, I add shampoo and dog food.
"Don't ever turn the dryer timer counterclockwise," the repairman told me. He will have to get a part and come back in a couple of days. Meanwhile, I will be without a working dryer. Admittedly, I must have known not to turn electronic dials backward. My dad is an electrician, after all. But, somewhere along the way, I fell into the habit of taking a short cut.
Late in my first semester of college, my roommate, Hannah, announced she would go home that upcoming weekend. By this time, the men in my life irritated her last nerve, and her obsessive-compulsive need for cleanliness and habit of leaving passive-aggressive sticky notes around the apartment drove me batty. She couldn't study if I clicked my ink pen while reading in the next room, and she had to put the wall clocks facedown to stop their ticking when she was trying to concentrate. We decided to make it through the rest of the school year together and then find more compatible roommates.
I walked back to my place across the parking lot to see if Hannah and Rowan were around even though neither of them had tried to call me at Nick's like I'd asked them to when he and I left the campus party together. It was so late that I was sure they must be back home. When I reached our building, I saw that Matt's door was cracked open. Through it, I heard Hannah, Rowan, Mona, Lola, and a bunch of guys, including Presley, who asked, "Where did you say Bluet was?" Hannah told him, "Oh, she's with her new beau across the parking lot. There's no way she's coming home tonight." I pushed the door open and asked Hannah for her keys. I then asked her and Rowan, "Why didn't y'all call me?"
Earth is succumbing to famine due to blight and drought resulting from climate change, the depletion of resources, and overpopulation. A global pandemic is wiping out less-developed nations. In the United States, the vulnerable poor, working poor, and lower middle class, especially the elderly, are dying from a lack of access to affordable, quality healthcare. Amidst all of this, political conservatives, convinced they are living in the end-times, are stunned when members of a cult that worships the late author, Kurt Vonnegut, vanish without a trace.
The women’s soccer team threw an end-of-semester bash in December of 1990, and someone invited those of us in the Scholars Program. When my roommate, Hannah, and I stepped into the party with our Scholars friends Rowan and Josh, I immediately spotted Robby across the crowded common area. Our eyes met, and I observed a familiar, petite soccer chick on his arm. He had been dating her when I met him back in late August. Clearly, he had chosen to spend his last night in town with her instead of me. I had wondered why I hadn’t heard from him yet that day. Crushed, I turned to leave the party when Nick touched my shoulder.