Saturday, January 28, 2006

Time won't give me time, Tom Yest. Time is money...

For the eleven years that Sara Krowa was in a coma, she dreamed of washing clothes. First there was separation according to color: black, black, bleu, black, green, green, green, white, black, white, green, bleu, bleu, green, white, white, green, red, bleu, bleu, amour et bleu. That song, in endless cycles, kept repeating in her unconscious head. She always liked to hum while laundering. That lasted four years. Then there was separation according to temperature: hot, hot, hot, cold, medium, medium, cold. What seemed like endless wash cycles lasted another four years. Finally, it was time to load everything in the dryers. Quarter after quarter, until the timer read 1,576,800 minutes—yep! that’s about three years' worth. Drying and fluffing. Fluffing and drying. Until everything spins in its last cycle. Cool down. Click. Buzzer. Eyes open. There were three responses when Sara Krowa awoke from her eleven-year coma: “Hallelujah!” from her mother, “A miracle of modern science!” from her brother, and her husband’s ever-so-quiet, “Oh, shit.”

No comments:

Post a Comment