Skimming

She flipped through her days like the pages of a book she had no intention of reading, all more or less the same if she didn't look too closely, modified slightly by the week-ends, chapter 3, chapter 40, chapter 507.

Buzz, flush, wash, dress, boil, fry, percolate. "How many times have I asked you to chew with your mouth closed?" How many times have I fried an egg?

Lunch in bags for the kids, mayonnaisse on her thumb. "Cross carefully." Please. "Don't talk to strangers." So many creeps in this world. "See you after school," and she kissed at the fleeting foreheads. "Drive carefully, Dear," and she kissed at the fleeting lips.

All roads leading to different rooms, classrooms, offices, "Hello Mrs. Calloway," "Good morning, Mrs. Dennis." Purse in drawer, pursing, lips, sticking drawers, typewriter prints only half the 'x,' running low on steno pads, home at three.

Flipped through her days of déjà vu.

Yet the sameness was not boring, but consoling. I drove past Harley's yesterday and the day before, I've driven past Harley's a thousand times, different dresses in the window, but it's still the same old store.

Consoling.

And I surely shall drive past a thousand times more.

Consoling.

And she and her family wouldlive forever. That was what she wanted most.