Bare lists are suggestive to the imaginative mind. -Emerson
They were going on a trip. She had made a list of things they would need, then misplaced it, and now they were looking everywhere for the list she lost. What are you doing?? he had asked her. Meaning: Shouldn’t we be going soon?? That wasn’t what he said, it was just what he meant. So she said: I’m looking for the list I lost! He looked at her, stopped. It had been a very tense morning; they were highly anxious both about being prepared for the trip and for getting started on time. I’m looking for the list I lost! she had said. Meaning: It is integral to the task at hand. Which made sense to him at the time. So, he said: Okay, where did you have it last? Meaning: I’ll start looking too, or else, Maybe I can help you remember…
It was right here, she said. …On the kitchen counter.
He scanned the kitchen counter. He moved some bills stacked on the end around, her purse, a pile of scribbles the children had made – the children were with his parents that weekend and had already been picked up. He lifted up and opened a folder he used for work. No list.
So now he was looking too.
Looking for the list she lost. And it was some time later, he stopped, sighed loudly and thought: What in the world was on that list!
What in the world was on that list?? he called out to her.
He was in the living room, having just come back inside from checking the car. She was in another room.
I don’t know! she called from upstairs – she was checking their bedroom a second time: I can’t remember! she yelled. Meaning: That’s why I wrote it down!
Where in the world is that list? he said to himself. Meaning: We’ve looked everywhere! And he stepped back outside as if he were going to check the car again immediately, but instead threw up his hands in frustration – as if in plea to the great indifferent emptiness of the sky.
Some of the places they looked:
- On the kitchen counter
- In their room
- Under the change tray on the étagère where they kept their car keys and where he left his wallet.
- In her luggage.
- In the downstairs office.
- In the upstairs office.
- In the dirty clothes basket: he ran his fingers through every pocket of her dirty clothes.
- In the children’s room – she sometimes gave them her old lists to play House with…
- It was not in his pocket, he checked.
- Twice.
- As did she.
- It was not in the cracks of the sofa cushions or under the couch – even when it seemed against all odds that it would not be there because everything else was: the girl’s stuffed doll; three of the boy’s action figures; a real tambourine and a toy guitar; her book she had bought for her book club and lost; a 5 dollar bill; $1.81 in quarters, nickels, and dimes; the proofs from the boy’s school pictures which they never bought because they purchased other professional pictures yearly on the children’s birthdays; a daily progress report from the girl’s daycare; a t-shirt; seven unmatched socks; a wine glass; a plastic kiddie cup; so on…
- In their room again.
- In their bed: wink-wink… nudge, nudge…
- The kitchen counter again.
- Is this why we’re always running late?
- The kitchen counter once more and: O, love, but once we made love on kitchen counters as if that is all kitchen counters were for! And the rest of the house too, not just the kitchen counter!
- The laundry room, for instance, on top of the dryer.
- Still, love, let me count the ways we love still, kitchen counters or no, we even love looking for the lists we’ve lost…
- It was the night they returned from the trip: the children were in bed; he was half asleep on the couch; she was unloading the items from the cooler they brought and, in doing so, pulled something down from on top of the refrigerator where it had been sat, absent-mindedly. A scrap of paper. But he was snoring now, so she sat it on the counter.
- Finally, G*d woke, rose in His arm chair, nestled in some dark corner of the universe, snapped His fingers and cancelled the star He was using as a reading lamp; He stood, stretched, stiff joints cracking with crepitus, He rose with the intent of helping them find the list they lost: but seeing everyone had returned home safely and, exhausted, had gone on to sleep, He once again forgot… So he checked the screen door, pushed the side door to the carport to, turned the deadbolt. Went to bed.
- Happy for once.
Epilogue. It was the day after they returned that she called out – he was upstairs unpacking his suitcase, trying to answer an email from work at the same time. The kids had been playing quietly at first, but steadily getting louder, until finally it had risen to (what he thought was) a joyful screaming. She called out his name.
What? What? he called, running to the top of the stairs.
He looked quickly around the room. The kids were fine. Screaming, but fine. Everything was fine. She held up the scrap of paper.
What in G*d’s name? he said, hand on his chest.
It’s the list, she laughed. I forgot I found it last night – while you were asleep!
List? What list? The one we looked for?
The one we lost, she said.
And this is what was on it:
From store:
Bacon
Ice
Soda
La Croix
Bread
Apples
Antiseptic wash
Beer
Plastic cups
To pack:
Blankets, pillows
Toiletries
Clothes/boots
Ham, cheese, drinks
Meat
Asparagus
Apples
Protein bars
Marinade
Swimsuit
Music