Jules was searching for his backup pajama pants. He wore the same pair of old gray flannels most cool nights in the winter. They’d been worn down to such a comfortable degree that he could barely feel them around his waist. Every couple of months Jules washed them. He ruffled through a pile of clothes at the bottom of the closet, searching for the backups. Now that he was going to have helpers, Jules knew things would soon get rearranged and put in some sort of order. While rummaging, he found an old shoebox he hadn’t seen for ages. He took it out and discovered a collection of photographs. He hadn’t seen this particular set since moving to Santa Barbara. Didn’t remember he even owned them. He looked on the back for the time stamp—1976. In the picture, Jules and eight-year-old Reva were sitting on the floor of her room, smiling for the camera. Behind them was a stack of books as high as Reva’s shoulders, well over three feet.
Jules drifted back into the past once again.
It was almost February, the middle of another Philly winter. When Jules arrived home, Lisa showed him a paper that Reva brought home—a list of several school library books that Reva hadn't returned. Then Reva managed to lose the list itself, somewhere in her room. Jules searched her little desk, then the bookshelf. When he asked Reva what had happened to the paper, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “No idea!”
They sat down to dinner. Lisa’s bacon macaroni and cheese with a salad. There weren't enough forks. They all needed to be washed. Jules shook his head and shouted, “Well I’ll be damned! The universe is messing with us!”
Lisa quipped, “I don’t think Carl Sagan would agree.” Jules and Lisa had both read Sagan’s Cosmos over the previous summer. Later that night they sat down to watch a movie on the VCR, the remote was nowhere to be found. Jules bent down to look under the couch, but found only dust, one of Reva’s socks and a bunch of Legos. Jules told Lisa, “Sagan said we’re made of starstuff, but I’m pretty sure that remote control is made of plastic and electronics. Where the hell could it be?”
A few days later, Jules couldn't find his goddamn keys. Meanwhile, Lisa couldn't find her favorite bag. Jules searched manically through the house, growing increasingly unhinged. Everyone was going to be late. Eventually, little Reva located Lisa’s bag. The keys were inside. It was under an umbrella. Despite the rain, they’d gone to dinner the night before.
Jules couldn’t help but wonder why it was so hard for them to stay on top of everything. Neither he nor Lisa were equipped for the level of organization it took to both work full-time, take care of a house and raise a child. Someone was always sick and the other one was always tired.
Eventually, the forks were washed and put back in the silverware drawer. The remote turned up in a kitchen drawer filled with odds and ends. The paper from the library teacher was never found. Like so many loose pieces of earthly paper, it was consumed by the gravitational pull of the black hole just beyond our mortal senses. Jules liked to imagine a universe that collected odds and ends and threw them into orbit.
The following Saturday, Jules sat down with Reva in her room and they began to sort through her collection of books, searching for the ones she’d been borrowing for too long from the school library. Lisa couldn’t bother with the room organization, so it was left to Jules to stay on top of the second-grader’s clutter.
As they were arranging the books by series, Reva looked up at Jules. “Hey Daddy?” she asked.
“Yes, honey,” he said, while placing another book on the shelf.
“Thanks for helping me clean up,” Reva said and gave a hug that melted Daddy Jules.
“I’m glad you appreciate it.” Jules stopped and considered his daughter for a moment.
He was the proud parent of a thankful eight-year-old. He knew not too many parents could say that.
“It’s hard to keep track of stuff, isn’t it?” Jules asked Reva.
“Really hard!” Reva responded.
“Just wait till I’m an old grouch,” Jules had told her.
“Will you lose even more stuff?” Reva asked, giggling.
“I’ll probably lose my teeth and my eyes and my ears,” Jules said, making goofy eyes and pulling at his ears.
Reva couldn’t stop laughing, and tumbled on the rug.
“Then I’ll lose my balance and start tumbling over,” Jules tumbled onto his daughter, and tickled her tummy.
“Then, finally, I’ll lose my mind.” Jules kept tickling Reva until she shrieked.