Disappearing Act, Part XIII

Saturday

Mary left early, for some urgent secretary work.

After my breakfast, I went to get some money from the bank, to pay for the new bed.

I cashed in a check for a hundred dollars. I handed it with my checkbook to the cashier.

He opened the checkbook and looked me with furrowed brow.

- Do you think this is funny?

- What are you talking about?

He pushed the checkbook towards me, calling out:

- Next.

I believe that I shouted.

- What are you trying to pull?

A man got up from a desk and approached with an important air. Behind me, a woman said:

- Don’t stay in front of the window, sir.

- What’s he talking about? asked the man.

- Your cashier is refusing to honor my check.

He took the checkbook that I was holding and opened it.

He widened his eyes with surprise. Then, in a calm voice:

- The checkbook is blank, sir.

I pulled the checks back, heart beating fast.

It had never been used.

I whimpered:

- Oh! My god…

- Would you like for us to verify the number of your checkbook?

But there was not even a number. I looked at it. Tears welled in my eyes.

- No, I said, no…

I left as he was calling me:

- One second, sir...

I ran all the way home.

I waited in the entrance for Mary to come home. I continue to wait this very moment. I am looking at the checkbook. On the line that we had signed both our names. At the spaces where we put down our deposits. Fifty dollars from her parents for our first wedding anniversary. Two hundred and thirty dollars from the Veteran’s fund. Twenty dollars. Ten dollar. ..

Everywhere, nothing but emptiness.

Everything was gone. Jane. Sally. Mike. The names disappeared along with the people.

And now the checkbook. What was next?