The five from last week: I swear, I have no idea where these things come from.

Right here I was going for my grandmother, double and triple checking her key in her front door, muttering "Is it locked? Is it locked? Is it locked?"
See what happens when you let your brain just roam around?

COMPULSIONS


Amy was standing in line at the grocery store in Tonopah when she felt that little sliver of worry in her gut. What had she forgotten? She yanked the list out of her right hand shorts pocket and eyeballed each item she’d put on the conveyor belt. Milk, check. OJ, check. Lunchmeat, yogurt, TP, sunscreen, ice – all there. She flipped the list over: two quarts of 30 weight oil and three flashlight batteries, (D’s).

She’d just have to go back; she didn’t want to stop again. Tahoe was still five hours away and she wanted to be there by dark. These days driving after dark made her jumpy – her depth perception wasn’t what it used to be and the oncoming headlights on the old narrow 95 highway seemed blurred.

Amy started to put stuff back into her basket and heard assorted grunts of exasperation from behind her. Four carts and several large families blocked her retreat. She set the milk and TP back down and sighed. She’d just have to go through twice, pay for this load and then go back.
But then she couldn’t leave the basket on the other side of check out -- no, someone would probably steal it. She’d have to take it out to the car and then come back.

Once she got to the car, she had to rearrange the cooler to fit the milk and OJ in. She dropped the ice bag on the asphalt to break it up so it would settle over all the food. Then she crumpled up the plastic bag, stuck it in the trash, and forgot to go back.

She was just outside Hawthorne on the swooping curves by Walker Lake, the alkaline water tugging at her when she remembered – batteries, three D, alkaline! And there was something else, what was it? It was on the list in her shorts pocket which she tried to dig out, but the pocket was deep and the seat belt was in her way. She un-clicked it and squirmed, wiggling her fingers down into the tight fabric, the car swerved a little. Where the hell was her list?

A big black pick up roared around her, his horn blaring, his fist pumping a digit at her. Another swerve, and he cut in front of her too fast. An eighteen wheeler thundered by them both. It was too much. She pumped the brakes and yanked her car off onto a little access road just ahead, coming to a stop right in front of a pit toilet. This was a good thing as she had to pee so badly -- but first she had to find the list.

Lifting her butt off the seat she still couldn’t wiggle her fingers deep enough into the pocket to find the list. So she wrenched the door open and flung herself out of the car. Finally! She held the list up in triumph and read the back: 2 quarts of 30 weight and three batteries. The wind off the lake snatched the list out of her hand and sent it soaring over the cliff in front of her.

She grabbed the pencil and post it pad she kept on the dash and muttered to herself: 2 quarts of 30 weight, 2 quarts of 30 weight as she sprinted to the toilet.

As she sat on the toilet peeing in a near state of bliss, she began her new list. Was that 3 quarts of 20 weight, or 2 of 30? And what was that other thing?

She could see the lake thru the slats in the door, oh yeah, Alkaline, batteries, three, D.

She put it on the list.