When Rebecca Loudon says so over strong tea with milk, believe her. The police rang the doorbell in what for me is the middle of the night so I was startled out of sleep but almost expecting them to show. And how strange, this visit on Easter night without so much as a phone call. I wandered around yesterday thinking well and what now?--replace it? wait for it? search for it?--and how long will I walk around seeing things without it? Can I go back to walking around seeing things without it? And that was a dark thought.
I had other dark thoughts, the ones about failure, for I hadn't been watchful enough, had I, and all that rhetoric about getting what you deserve (what a tyrant, that one). I wouldn't listen, but it was pretty damned loud anyway. I went to bed especially early to get my head straight for teaching and the week ahead. It was still light out when I drifted off and dreamt of J, which I haven't done in what? Months? A year or more? Maybe Suzanne and I spoke of him yesterday; maybe he shows up when I've lost something--that old pressure again--like a good barometer.
But then there it was. My camera and the film inside it, intact.
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See the honey bees?
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