Wednesday 1991 Today

I heard the creak of the furnace kicking in. I watched a single beam of sunlight move across the carpet, inch by inch, until it finally died against the baseboard. I realized that time wasn't a scroll. It was a physical object. You could feel it passing through your hands like grains of sand.

But when I close my eyes, I am still there. It is Wednesday, 1991. It is 4:47 PM. The clock on the VCR is blinking 12:00. I am lying on the carpet. I am doing nothing. wednesday 1991

But I didn’t turn on the TV. Not immediately. I heard the creak of the furnace kicking in

This is the part of the memory that feels like drowning. I had three hours until dinner. Three hours until my dad came home and asked, "What did you do today?" It was a physical object