Yesterday, Tomorrow, Today

Yesterday, I visited the barber and tailor. I placed my documents — certified copies of test scores, orders from the Agency, and every legal form of self-identification — in a leather briefcase and my newly pressed uniforms and suits into my luggage. I set my belongings under the window by the front door.

Tomorrow, I leave for the Borders. I know that I will not return; the odds are high that there will be nothing left of me to return. The Agency will send a car. They’ll transport me to my first location, a base — that’s all they’ve told me. Then, I imagine I’ll undergo training before heading to the front lines where I’ll hand Captain Ander my placement ticket. I’ll join the fight; I’ll defend our home. I will die a hero. All I have left is —

Today…ahh, but today I wake my love with tender kisses.

We’ll spend the early morning making breakfast: she’ll halve and squeeze the oranges while I scramble the eggs. We’ll sing along to whatever is on the radio and she won’t need as much convincing to dance with me in the kitchen. For lunch, I’ll pack a basket and we’ll take a walk through the park. She’ll read me her favorite passages; I’ll feed her plump green grapes in between long stretches of silence. Maybe one or the other will fall asleep in the afternoon sun. We’ll come home and make love like we have all the time in the world. Today, I have all the time in the world.