For a moment there, I thought I’d lost it: at the end of my daily bicycle ride to the station, I found the central clock on the station terminal to display 05:55AM, three whole minutes past the moment my train was supposed to leave! Panic never had a chance, he’s been let go of quite a while ago, but I did wonder…
"Let’s see, where did I go wrong?", was the next move. I’d left the house at 5:15, even noted the time when Laura asked me if I always left that early. Cycled out in my usual tempo, maybe even a bit quicker, because of that drizzle that tends to seep through your clothes despite its not so abundant wetness. The dog guy hadn’t been on the bicycle path a mile out, but he was sometimes late or early, so that didn’t mean a thing. And the shopkeeper another mile further was just unlocking his door, so I’d been on schedule then…
No other humans cross my path after that, untill I reach the station. So how on Earth could I have lost about half an hour??? Being mr. Moorelife himself, intriguing thoughts immediately crossed my mind. Had I been abducted? Point is, my third novel which is keeping me busy at the moment involves such an "abduction", which is totally benign. And frankly, I’d not mind at all if such a thing happened, especially if they bring you back to the same time and place afterwards.
That would be one vacation I’d certainly enjoy, and you all know I’m not that into vacationing. Wandering around, yes, but vacationing involves packing and lugging stuff around, which tends to diminish my ease of mind. I’d rather go with just the clothes on my back (and butt), and just acquire any other essentials on the way… that is freedom!
But all of that was past now, and if I had been abducted, I certainly hadn’t remembered anything of it, not even the tiniest shred! "Figures", I thought: "I never remember my nightly dreams either, so why would this be any different?". I guessed the only thing to do out here was take the next train, and start work half an hour late. I descended the runway as we call it, a not too steep stairwell with ridges to guide our bikes along, and entered the subterranean bicycle parking. Yes, in Zutphen, in that little country called Holland, known for its bikes, we have a free parking for those who ride their bike to the station. And as I entered the parking and said good morning to the attendant, reality snapped back into place: no missing time, but a busted clock. The grand clock outside had stopped at 5:55 (probably last night), but in here the time was much more like it used to be. At 5:32 I greeted Caroline, and accompanied her to the train and my normal working day…..
Love your Losses, and they turn into gains….