Vindicating in the Bathroom

By now, it's 11:47pm in the evening, and the last sparks of the last fireworks flicker from the sky. Clancy snapped his suitcase shut and walked out of the door, and out of Claire’s life forever; falling to the bed, she tried to hold back her sobs, all the more troubled by the fact that part of her sobs not for the absence of Clancy (she quietly loathes the man) but for her own sudden aloneness, just a small step – another 10 summers? One more disappointment in the eyes of one more man? Another half-inch on the sycamore out back? – to complete aloneness, sobbing as she remembered my lecture at Yale University’s School of Comparative Zoology where I said that the brief life of the tiny amoeba is not the splendor to behold, but the march on of its species and how the species collectively intertwines, nay underpins, all of the Earthly species, themselves products of a mathematical unlikelihood so immense as to inspire pure awe, but still she cried while half a country away in my bathroom I brushed my teeth, prosaic and, without me even realizing it, vindicated.