Zeds 6.2

“One of several reported around the world?” I repeat the lady’s words as I glance back to the tv. “I’m not sure, I wasn’t listening.” I look at Corey questioningly. He shrugs.

“I was just waiting for your name,” Corey says.

I pull my phone from my pocket just as the lady does and I turn the screen on. With a few clicks, I find an article reporting world events, then extend my hand so everyone can read it from my screen.

“Fourteen meteorites made contact with the surface,” the young lady reads. “While eight of them splashed harmlessly into the ocean, it is unusual for rocks of this size to survive the journey through the atmosphere and make it to the surface. Sentry, an organization of amateur astronomers dedicated to the defending earth from alien invasions, has reported that more than 25 meteorites struck the atmosphere; a claim that NASA is supporting. However, those all either bounced off the atmosphere or burnt up and reduced to harmless dust that will sprinkle across the Earth.”

The young lady pauses her reading, takes a few seconds of silence, then asks Corey for a drink. He asks for her ID and she fished her wallet from her purse.
“That’s crazy,” she says as she removes her ID.

“You don’t look older than sixteen, lady. I have to ID everyone,” Corey replies.

“Not that,” she says. “The Meteors. Twenty-five of them? That’s not even counting the ones that got through. Why didn’t anyone see them coming? You would think there would be alerts or something.” She pulls her ID from her purse, pinches it at the bottom to point at her birthday and flips it around to show Corey. He nods and fetches her a glass.

“You look familiar,” I say, examining the young lady. She smiles and nods at me.
“You gave a lecture in my class last week about managing nocturnal enuresis in children and when it should be a concern. Well, half of one anyway.”

My face turns red as she mentions my lecture and I lean back on my stool, shaking my head as I stare at the ceiling for a few seconds. I had given a lecture the week before for a class on pediatrics under the topic of bed wetting, when I was supposed to be discussing brain tumors in children. I had an interesting case the previous year that warranted an article in a medical journal. I hadn’t gone to the wrong room or anything, I had just brought the wrong lecture notes.

“Wow, okay,” I smile at her and extend a hand. “James, obviously.”

She returns the smile, taking my hand as Corey sets her drink on the bar top.

“Claire,” she says. “Pleasure to meet you properly.”

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