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Empty Frame


Empty Frame

The phone rings. Someone I don’t know, from a world I don’t know, is speaking. It’s the end of an office day and I’m tired. I answer in a suspecting tone. He says he found my wallet. God, I tell myself, you have to trust people more. I thank him from the bottom of my heart. He gives me directions and asks in a trembling voice, if it’s not too difficult, maybe I can write him a word of gratitude or something on a piece of paper. I say I’ll take a cab and come straight away and wonder if my wallet has found a rehabilitated convict. On the way to the cab I take a picture of an empty frame in case I find a text to put inside. Instead of a text I find right there inside the frame my friend Na’ama who happens to be driving in the direction I need to go. I reach the person with her help, give him a little gift and get my life back. Check to see everything’s here, he says. I trust you, I say. But it’s not true. Inside the elevator I open the wallet to make sure everything’s inside. Everything’s inside, except trust I never had and text to put inside the empty frame.

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