Yuki's world stopped spinning.
At least, that was how it felt.
She sat on the couch staring at the television, its blank screen reflecting the pale shape of her face. Something was wrong.
Her shows should have been on.
She knew that.
She had been waiting for them.
But the television refused to cooperate.
Yuki frowned.
"The remote," she whispered.
She looked beside her.
Nothing.
She searched the coffee table.
Nothing.
She lifted the cushion.
Nothing.
She checked the floor.
Nothing.
Her frustration grew.
Someone had moved it.
Someone always moved things.
And suddenly she knew who was responsible.
Her son.
He had probably taken it just to bother her.
"That wicked boy," she muttered.
She reached for the telephone.
She would call him.
She would tell him exactly what she thought of his little trick.
The phone was in her hand.
She stared at it.
Why was she holding it?
She looked toward the television.
The blank screen stared back.
She frowned.
She had something to do.
Something important.
She just couldn't remember what.
Yuki lowered the phone.
"Tea," she said suddenly.
Of course.
Tea would help.
Tea always helped.
She pushed herself up from the couch, holding the phone tightly in one hand.
As she stood, something slipped from her lap.
It landed softly on the carpet.
Yuki took a step toward the kitchen.
Then stopped.
She looked down.
There, lying in plain sight, was the remote.
She stared at it for several seconds.
A strange silence filled the room.
Then Yuki slowly bent down and picked it up.
Her eyes widened.
She looked at the phone in her other hand.
Then at the remote.
Then at the television.
A little smile appeared.
"Oh," she whispered.
She had found it.
She turned toward the couch.
Then paused.
The thought returned.
Her son.
He had done something.
She was certain of it.
Yuki shook her head.
"Oh, that wicked son," she whispered.
She placed the remote on the table and carried the phone into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, she returned with a warm cup of tea.
She sat beside the window.
Outside, rain had begun to fall.
Tiny drops traced crooked paths down the glass, blurring the garden beyond into soft shades of green and gray. The world seemed quiet.
Yuki wrapped both hands around the cup and felt its warmth seep into her fingers.
She watched the rain.
For a moment, she couldn't remember what she had been doing.
She couldn't remember the missing remote.
She couldn't remember why she had wanted to call her son.
She couldn't remember the name of the show she had been waiting for.
But none of that seemed important now.
The rain was beautiful.
Yuki took a slow sip of tea.
A faint smile crossed her face.
"Such a lovely day," she whispered.
And for that moment, it was.
The rain continued to fall against the window, the tea warmed her hands, and Yuki sat quietly watching the world outside.
Whatever she had forgotten could wait.
For now, she was simply there.
And sometimes, simply being there was enough.
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