Noonday

Agnes was practicing her calligraphy. I said it was strange to do so considering all the alien spaceships in the sky. Agnes said, What are we supposed to do? Cry about it? I said, Well, no, but widespread panic might be in order. I pointed out the window. See? I said. See how they run? Maybe we should be out there running, too. Yeah, said Agnes, but where to? Where do those people think they’re going? Agnes made a very handsome curlicue with her fountain pen.

I had to admit she had a point about all the running. There was a pointlessness to all the running. She made another swoosh, another loop-de-loop, another do-si-do. There was something about her ink. It had a special quality. A shimmering nature.

Wow, that’s some kind of ink, I said. It has a shimmering nature.

Thank you, said Agnes. It’s octopus.

No shit? I said.

No, said Agnes. It’s just regular ink. Where would I find an octopus? You’re just so used to looking at screens all the time. You look at screens too much. It’s bad for your eyes and your brain and your soul.

Agnes pointed to her own eyes and her own brain and her own soul, which she located just off her left elbow.

You’re so used to looking at pixels on a screen that simple, honest-to-god black ink on white paper is extraordinary to you. Your little brain can’t make sense of it.

Those spaceships are really getting close, I said, looking out.

They aren’t getting any closer, said Agnes. It’s an optical illusion, on account of the clouds and the low angle of sun. Things will look different under a noonday sky.

Noonday? I said. Who says noonday?

People say it, said Agnes.

I’ve heard people say midday and noonish and even noontime, but never noonday, I said.

It means around noon, said Agnes.

Well, I figured as much, I said. But why not just say midday? Or noonish? Or noontime?

I like noonday, said Agnes.

Hey, it’s fine, I said.

I know it’s fine, said Agnes.

I got myself some cereal. The Cheerios were almost gone, so I took only half.

There’s some Cheerios left, I said. If you want some.

Thank you, said Agnes.

Agnes put down her fountain pen and got herself some Cheerios. We sat together at the kitchen table, eating our Cheerios as slowly as possible. Every now and then I stole a glance at her calligraphic work.

That’s so nice, I said.

Thanks, she said.

Agnes and I held hands. We sat there at the kitchen table for a long time. We cried a bit, then laughed for a bit. We sat there holding hands as morning turned to noonday and as noonday turned to whatever comes after that. Outside people ran off screaming. Other people, from elsewhere, ran in screaming. Soon, they too would run off screaming. Agnes said it was like the water cycle but more horrifying. She made a little drawing of the human scream cycle on the back of a paper towel. What do you think? she said. It’s nice, I said. It’s really something.