Occasionally, friends and their children tumble into my deadzone. I only figure this out when it’s too late.
Should we be mid-conversation and a dullness glaze my eyes and my mouth cease its blather, please know I still care about you and our chitchat, but have momentarily darted into my brain cavity to operate the mega-watt searchlight, peering into the dark moldy folds of my mind in search of your name.
I expect silence and the vacancy you encounter in my visage will signal my distress.
You can throw me a lifeline here. It usually just takes a little hint. Like pointing to yourself and saying, “Elizabeth.”
Before your feelings get hurt, remember I am the person who sometimes can’t recall whether I have running water at my house.
And that hole in my head sucks up an amazing a number of random things, glasses, multiplication tables, appointments, past pain, and the day of the week.
I swim in muddy water.