Mary Stewart drove to Cosco at 10:11 on December 10th, 2010. She autopiloted into her usual lined row half-full of parked vehicles. White shiny SUV. She thought of Nbuku, a 13-year-old in Mozambique, whose existence she doubts. She found herself staring at unfallen tree leaves and could not decide if they were grey or still green, low light of heavy clouds.
Her open eyes water. She feels as real as Mary from It's a Wonderful Life, and George. Her cold fingers squeeze, rubbery wheel.
She thinks of her 'story' as Christmas, all other holidays, her parents, her children, the buildings she has been in or passed by. Calendars, books she looked at, appointments made and missed, libraries she thought of.
Autopilot, work in the family. She walks into cosco, heels loud, brisk wind, 45 degrees. Long black coat, pearl earrings, pantyhose.
She was a plate of boiled spaghetti. When she is 11, she turns on an air conditioner for the first time, June eleventh, time and time ago....
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