Found Objects by Michael Boehm Page A

her face.  " She was a fine lady.  What happened ?"  
    "We didn't have enough time together.   She had her residency, I had mine.  Between that and my research assistantship, and her volunteering, we hardly ever saw each other. We would sneak off for a weekend once in a while but it was like we were strangers on a first d ate every time.  It was awkward and exhausting.”                
    "Time's a funny thing, you know?"   Charlie's mother said.   "It's the one thing you can never make any more of.   You can borrow it, save it, or waste it, but you can't make it fresh.   That's why it's the most valuable thing i n the world.   W e all ge t the same number of hours each day.   People say ‘I don't got time for this,’ what they're saying is they got other things they'd rather spend their time on.   We all got the same amount, Charlie.   We just gotta choose what we do with it."  
    Charlie picked up his teas poon and stirred his cup .   "I'm sorry about dad," he said.   “I wish I could have done more.”
    His mother cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.   "Is that what you think this is all about?   Charlie, did yo u think I blamed you for that? "  
    "I should have seen it," Charlie said .   "I'm a doctor , after all.   After he died, I just-"
    "You what?" his mother shot back.   "You what?   You felt g uilty , so you hid in your condo in the city?   You blamed yourself for it and because of that, you decide to punish everyone around you?     You don't talk to me, you leave your wife, you forget your family?   What kind of man are you?"
    "I have a life!" Charlie shouted.  His spoon rattled on the formica .   "People respect me.   I save lives.   I write articles that people read all over the world.   People ask me to speak at conferences.   I'm making a difference. Dammit, momma. "
    His mother gazed at him coolly.   "We all have a life, son," she said.   "You think you're a big shot, but you can't even take care of your family.   Now you roll up here in your ess-you-vee and think you're gonna make everything all right just like that.   In all your trying to be someone, you forgot who you are.   Let me ask you something.   When you go to these fancy conferences of yours, and someone asks you where you from, what do you tell them?"
    They stared at each other across the table, the entire house shuddering.   A window exploded inwards as a branch shattered it.   G ossamer curtains whipped about as sheets of rain, splintered wood, and broken glas s sprayed in .   Charlie jumped up and seized the branch hanging halfway into the living room, trying to shove it back outside.   "Momma, it's time to go!"
    She stood up, clutching at her shawl.   "I'm not the one looking to be saved, here, son!" she said.   "I've made my peace."  
    Charlie heaved the branch back out the window and turned to look at his mother, holding one hand up to bloc k the storm .   "Please, momma," he said.   "Please.   Let me take you somewhere safe."  
    They stood there, staring at each other as the rain dripped off their faces and the winds whipped about them, tearing the room to pieces, swirling the jetsam of her home about them.  
     
    Charlie drove out of the town, headed north on the levee road. The storm rocked the heavy vehicle, and when the rain was heaviest, he could see no more than a dozen feet ahead.   Slowly, carefully, he drove down the centerline of the road, the water three inches deep as the storm surge began sloppi ng over the levee.   Twice he had to get out and drag debris out of the r oad, and both times the wind nearly knocked him down.   Now up ahead, out of the grey he could just make out the shape of the trestle as he approached the bridge.   He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was not yet inundated.   Stopping the car for a moment, he glanced back in his mirror at the town he had grown up in.   The town looked deserted.  
    "Don't be stopping now,