The shoes, again

It's quarter to eight, a term on. Ava is on the bottom stair with a shoe in each hand, and they're the right way round, because she worked out about a month ago that the buckles go on the outside, and she did that without you. You're in the kitchen with your coat on. You can hear the strap, and the strap taking three goes, and then the other strap. It takes four minutes. You've used them to find your keys.

Leo's bag went past you on the way down the stairs and you didn't look in it, because it's his, and the last note from school was in October. Maya filled in the form on Sunday and asked you the doctor's name and nothing else. You've stopped counting the takeovers, because the number stopped being interesting, and the mornings have a different sound to them, which is mostly other people doing things.

None of it is done well. The bag is a mess and the form has the postcode in the wrong box and Ava's shoes are on the right feet by a method she'd struggle to explain. That's the bad version, and it's the one they can do, and next year's version will be better because this one was allowed.

One action. Tomorrow, when the hand moves, and it will, put it in your pocket, and say the shortest true thing, which is "that's yours". Then wait. That's the whole method, and the rest of the book was the argument for it.