Bearings

Was it Wednesday? Today? Junior descends from his upstairs room, pen in hand. Had he forgotten supper? Every clock told a different story. Which one to believe? Would he have to start the day over again? He steps out onto the street. Traffic hum. Walks to a nearby shop.

Hello, he says. I need to get my bearings. What time is it?

Bearings? Time? the clerk says. What you need is a compass, and we don't carry those here. We do serve coffee though, if you're interested.

Will it help me understand what time it is?

No, and it won't give you your bearings either.

Well, thanks for your help, says Junior, and he steps back out the door and onto the street. Rife with traffic. Sick with it. Nothing to be done, he thinks and turns back toward his room. Once upstairs again he looks down at his pen. Picks it up. Starts to move it across the page. The ball moves, smooth, the ink flows. So it goes.

Later he rides his bike for 32 kilometres and thinks nothing of it.