She can't find the credit cards she hid in our house from would-be thieves when we went away. “That makes you the thief.” She stands disappointed before the mirror wearing a lopsided lei crown souvenir, an unrelated t-shirt, and as of yet, no pants. Tropical vacation sun has streaked her brown, flower-ringed hair but not the gray strands. She frowns at what has been lost, no longer a charming child playing dress-up or a coy, teasing young woman. “Time is the thief.” We grin. “They're in the clock!” she remembers. I sense time cannot steal what time itself is gifting.
James W. Miller is a professor, writer, and coffee roaster living in the Los Angeles area. Instagram: @james.w.miller