Seers believe our world ends on a Saturday. Amid morning coffee, errands, make-up sex, or video games, time will run out. I understand our Lord is coming to lead us to a day when our tabs come due.

At last Meagan from second grade will pay up for her mean little childhood. Standing next to her one day I noticed her braid and said, your hair looks cute.

I HATE the word cute, she said.

Maybe she will burst into flame on May 21 and an angel will bottle up her smoke for me.

But I have my own debt to Meagan. She was standing in the auditorium on an early June day singing her heart out alongside the rest of us fifth-graders thinking of summer vacation. As the choir wound down its last song, Meagan passed out. Her head cracked against the glossy gymnasium floor with a hollow bang. I wasn't upset. Screw her and her cute hair.

Somewhere in the house is a mosquito with my DNA in its horrid little belly.