Eggs

      "Remember the eggs," she said.  I could still see her as I left out the door this morning.  Seems so long ago.  A far off opening scene from a play about to end.  During intermission, the other called, cryptically insisting we meet for lunch.  Not good.  Never good.  

     Act II opened with my stomach hollow, my adrenals drained from an afternoon spent at my desk sitting motionless, staring off, swimming against alternating waves of panic then despair.  You two-bit punk.  Cooler aisle back of the store.  You stupe.  Pardon me, ma'am.  How could you be so foolish?  You knew better  

     There's no room in the aisles with all this crap.  It's not even Thanksgiving yet.  And how will you afford this, mate?  Why not just keep this junk up all year round?  Forget affording it.  What's she going to say when you finally tell all, confess everything?  How will she finally see you?  

     You'll need a place to sleep.  A place to put your clothes.  She'll see you for the louse you are.  Right through you.  Were they jumbo?  And you know what, you deserve it.

      And god help you if you lose your job.  Wait.  Did I send the draft?  Christ, compartmentalize, remember?  One on this side, her on the other ide, and hope the two never meet.  Oh, you were such a clever boy.  Master of the universe, weren't you?  Or did she want brown?  

      Here, I can get that for you.  Yeah, I've got one of my own at home.  She's nice.  Bet no one's broken her heart.  You foolish, foolish man.  How could you?  Extra large?  How about jumbo, extra large brown?  Jesus.  Free range, cage free, hormone free.  I. just. need. eggs.  I can't call her.  I need to do something right and proper with my life.  Our life.  Now that's funny.  You think there's going to be an "our"?  You know what, it doesn't matter what eggs.  

     She won't remember the eggs.