Daylight Savings Time

I promise you, this really does turn out to be about Daylight Savings time.

There was a knock on our front door yesterday. Robert had gone out. Since I was alone, I went to see who it was. (Ssh. Don't tell him, but I sometimes wait for him to get there first so he has to deal with whatever it is.)

There was a woman, maybe early 30s, or mid-20s with road years. Her eyes darted right and left but never once met mine.

"Can I talk to Coby?"

"Sorry, there's no one named Coby here. What house are you looking for?"

She answered with a sort of defeated panic that I wouldn't have thought was simultaneously possible. "This one. I was sure of it."

"No, sorry. I don't know anyone named Coby."

Then she said -- and I swear this is a verbatim quote ---

"Well, can I talk to his brother?"

Ba dum bum. Mic drop.

Not hilarious, although it is a decent punchline, right? She left shortly after that.

But this isn't about a random encounter. This is about Daylight Savings Time.

Coby's friend knocked on my door at an hour which would have still been in daylight the day before. This entire encounter took place in darkness.

What you just read sounds stupid and almost humorous, but the reality had an edge to it which I couldn't explain in the moment and still can't now.

She didn't scare me. I never felt threatened in any way nor expected an axe wielding fiend to jump out from behind her, still the whole thing felt creepy somehow.

Something about the darkness made it creepy.

Forget your extra morning sleep, now when I think of Daylight Savings Time, I'll always see her face.