“Dennis?”
It was Denise. She was standing above him, had her hand on his shoulder.
“What?” He was startled, but pushed off the syllable in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. It was like that sport where they throw the heavy weight across the floor -- ice? -- and then sweep after it. You wonder what the sweeping has to do with anything but clearly it must help otherwise why would they and why would it be a sport. Is it a sport? Curling?
Denise, however, looked concerned. Maybe he hadn’t swept hard enough. Anyway, he hadn’t cleaned up.
“What are you doing out here?”
He looked around, oriented himself in the present tense. He asked himself: How did he get here?
She went on. “I asked you to come out and get this chair like half an hour ago. Have you just been rolling around in the parking lot and daydreaming all this time, or what?”
No comments:
Post a Comment