Jordan greeted me excitedly when I
entered his third-grade classroom.
You did? Where was I? I asked him.
“You were in your car.”
Was I even in my car yesterday, I
wondered. I backtracked in my head over the previous day. I remembered that I
mowed the lawn and then went for a run. No, the car on Monday was parked right
where I left it on Friday.
“You have a pretty big car, right?
Dark red?”
My car is small, I told him, and
gold-colored. You’ve seen it in the school parking lot.
“You were driving near the dead-end
street off Lakeview,” he said.
Wait, was the guy behind the wheel a
very handsome man, I asked him.
“Yes!”
Well, then, it wasn’t me, I said.
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