Lost by Susan Tepper

We always get lost on car trips. I’ve come to expect it. Ron does the guy thing— refuses to ask directions. We can go circles out of our way; miles without sleep is what I sometimes think, wondering if Robert Frost had similar problems on car trips.

So I go to AAA and buy a bunch of maps. That night I say to Ron, “Look what I got!”

He hardly looks. It’s his way of keeping the power. “Well at least we won’t get lost anymore,” I say.

“Who’s going to read them?” He’s dropping three lumps of sugar into his coffee one at a time. I listen to the plop plop plop.

“Whoever isn’t driving!”

Now isn’t that obvious? It’s obvious to me. I think it would be obvious to the world at large.

“Ceilia, I don’t believe your eyes are good enough to read the small print on a map.”

“My eyes are fine with my reading glasses.”

“Did you upgrade your prescription? Because you can’t read the dosage on your stomach pills bottle.”

Now I want to say: If I lived by myself I wouldn’t need stomach pills. I never needed stomach pills until you came into my life. I think a map is a beautiful thing to behold. It shows me all the places I can escape to.

I don’t say any of that. I look at him watching his three lumps of sugar dissolve, and know I’m too late to start a new route.

1 Comment

Filed under Susan Tepper

One response to “Lost by Susan Tepper

  1. So much more said than just the surface conversation. Well done.

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