Waiting
Kat stares at the little black device. It has two compartments; she fills them and waits. The two LED lights are a taunting red. She needs to go, but she can’t until the light turns green.
From the couch, Jake says, “my mom always told me that a watched pot never boils. Not the same, but the concept still applies, methinks.”
He’s reading the paper in his pajamas, his feet up on the coffee table.
Kat glowers and nods; her face is stoic and her shoulders are straight. The light will change when it changes. In the meantime, other things need to be done.
With newfound determination, she looks for a distraction.
In the laundry room, she sorts clothes into piles: colors and whites. Her mind wanders to the day ahead and the journey that awaits her.
The long drive on winding mountain roads and a long fall on either side. She starts the washer, sets it to cold, and leaves the other pile for later.
Back in the living room, she glares at the tiny lightbulbs’ cherry eyes. With a huff, she stomps into the kitchen and loads the dishwasher.
With each dirty plate she cleans, she dreams of lakes and trails. A clear blue sky above her. With every washed bowl, she…
