TINY IMPERFECT FICTION 15

Iris woke up last Wednesday with an acute realization that something was missing. Over coffee, she took an inventory of everything that was unaccounted for: the car keys were on the table, her silver ring was in the dish, her passport was in the drawer, the fish was in the tank, the cat was in the house, her wallet was in the purse, the coat was on the hook…everything was in its place. 

She went through her day with an oogley feeling in her gut, like a ham-handed ghost was trying to tickle her, poking her gently above and below the belly button. Something was definitely going on - Iris felt both quite peculiar AND quite good. The only word she had for how she felt was “oogely." That was her word for this exact feeling, and she hadn't felt oogley in years, maybe decades. What a strange sensation. And what a bizarre nagging sensation to know something had gone missing, but have no idea what it was. 

Iris got into the bath at the end of this very ordinary, but so not ordinary, day, still feeling oogley and still wondering what in the world she had lost. She closed her eyes. And then her eyes snapped open and she smiled. Iris knew exactly what had gone missing. Iris had lost her instinct. And now it was back.