Xavier was halfway through his cereal when yesterday’s Papa wandered into his thinking.
Not today’s Papa. Yesterday’s Papa, who had spent ten minutes searching for the glasses sitting on top of his head.
“I can’t see well enough to find them,” he had complained.
Remembering it, Xavier began to laugh.
His spoon jerked, several cereal rings scattered across the table, and one landed above his eyebrow.
The kitchen had been perfectly ordinary a moment earlier. Nobody had told a joke. His cereal had made no attempt at comedy.
Yet here he was, laughing at something that was not happening.
Xavier lowered his spoon.
“That’s funny,” he murmured, and this time he meant more than Papa’s missing glasses.
Yesterday was over. Papa was not searching the kitchen. But a passing memory had become pictures, words, and a warm feeling in his chest, all happening now.
He had noticed this with embarrassing memories before. He could remember something awkward and feel his cheeks grow hot while sitting safely at home.
Apparently, the same ability could bring laughter to breakfast.
He smiled. His thinking could make a remembered moment feel remarkably close, whether it was uncomfortable or wonderful. That did not mean he had travelled back into it.
Seeing that gave him a little more room around those embarrassing memories. They could feel vivid without happening again, and something fresh could occur to him at any moment.
Xavier reached for another spoonful, then spotted his reflection in the window.
He removed the cereal ring from his forehead.
Breakfast, it seemed, had finally contributed a joke of its own.
Has a memory ever made you laugh out loud while nothing funny was happening around you?
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