You pack carefully, taking only what you need for six days. You clean the apartment as if you were going to return asking yourself, “What if they’re all wrong? Won’t that be a joke?” With that thought you will only toss the milk and green groceries from the refrigerator as you leave for the airport. You cannot imagine never seeing all your fine clothes and furnishings. “It’s crazy…” you tell yourself.
The ride to the airport is like a strange dream. Everything in slow motion. “Nobody knows!” Now you see the wisdom of the President. If he had told them they would be running
around frantically, violently. “He
really has given them six days of life,” you conclude, but you are glad to
know.
Checking in and seating in the plane are like an “Outer Limits”
episode. You are really in another place thinking of a
large rock in space whizzing to Earth.
You are not panicked, just numb.
You can do nothing, but you will be home when it happens and that is really
important to you.
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