Failing to Fall

This is the one thing I know from the minute I lift the receiver and slip that voice inside my ear: it will happen.

‘Come now.’

‘What?’

‘I need you. I need you to come right now.’

‘I’m working.’

‘And I’m not. I’m at home. Come on.’

‘You don’t –’

‘I do. Tell them you’re feeling ill. You’ve got to be somewhere. There’s an emergency. This is an emergency.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Will you come now. I want you to. I want you.’

‘I can’t.’

‘I want you.’

‘Really, it’s impossible.’

But it happens: I walk through the crashing or silent corridors and clean out of the building without even noticing whether I’ve put on my coat. I’m already on the way to somewhere else.