I robbed a bank.

Didn't mean to.

I'd deposited a check when the woman asked,Is there anything else?

She had a great smile.

It reminded me of a waxing moon.

I didn't want her to be a moon in vain,so I said, I'll take all the money in your drawer.

She said, Of course.

Then she said a funny thing.

Her head was down, she was looking at a stack of billsin her hand, when she said, How would you like that?

Meaning tens or twenties.

Hundreds or quarters.

And as soon as she said this, she stopped,dropped her hands, smiled, looked at me,shook her head and said, Duh.

And somethingopened between us.

A sense of lifeas renewable and surprising,full of little errors that make us noticewe need and can give help.

There's only one wayto want everything, she knew thatand was admitting her mistake.

So I pointed out to herthat I didn't have a gun.

She pointed out to methat money is a knife we plunge into each otherover and over for no good reason.

If I'd have had a cord of woodor even a few logs, I'd have built a fireright there and talked to herwell into the night, but there was no treein sight.

At the end, having handed me the money,once more she asked, Is there anything else?

Yes, I said.

I'd like to deposit this.

Checking or savings, she asked.

Given how far we'd come together, I admittedI've never known how to answer that question,if it's better to live for the momentor look forward to a better time.

That's why I'm here, she said,taking out a pencil and paper and dividingthe paper into two columns, one labeledThe Sky Is Falling, the other, So Am I.

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