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Suzanne Rindell __________________________________________________________
"Haste makes waste," Lot’s wife reminds him in a singsong tone. He shoots her a warning look that says: now is not the time for pithy proverbs. He shoves a fistful of the kids’ clothes into a burlap sack and cinches the neck tight. They have to hurry. He doesn’t know exactly how long they have; he is simply grateful that he got the inside scoop on this whole condemnation and annihilation thing. Lot looks over at his wife. Instead of helping him pack, she’s standing over by the fireplace, fingering the keepsakes on the mantle with a wistful look in her eye. "It wasn’t all wicked, was it? Our lives, together, here, in this place? I mean, surely there were good parts." Lot doesn’t answer; he is reminded of something else. He darts to the wall where his wife is standing and frantically taps his fist against it in circles, until he thumps on a hollow spot. "Stand back, honey," Lot says to his wife, as he picks up a walking staff. With a crash, the mud wall breaks open and a little heap of gold coins tumbles to the floor. Lot’s wife looks at him, surprised and a bit alarmed. "I had to take some precautions," he explains about the hiding place. "You know the neighborhood." Lot’s wife nods solemnly. She does know the neighborhood, and her husband is only being practical. The thing is, she is beginning to feel alienated by his practicality. It is almost as if Lot doesn’t give a fig for the home he is leaving behind. Sure, things haven’t always been the greatest, and she knew the neighbors were involved in some pretty shady things, but in the midst of all that gluttony and greed, hadn’t they eked out a life together? A life of love and trust and happiness? Was she the one who was feeling these things all along – just her, and not him? "Move it, kids!" Lot yells out. "No dawdling; let’s hit the road!" Lot’s daughters come tumbling down the wooden ladder from to the hut’s second story with prized possessions tucked under their arms. Lot’s wife looks at her children, their faces shining with all the dewy anticipation of a new adventure. Her heart lurches. Isn’t anyone sorry to be leaving? Outside, the donkeys are already loaded up to maximum capacity. Lot must have done that this morning, when he first woke up from his dream. He let his wife sleep in a little, thinking better of waking her. She is grateful for small mercies. Not that she isn’t glad to be spared from the onslaught of fire and brimstone, she just wasn’t expecting to wake up and uproot her whole existence today. She can’t help but feel a small twinge of loyalty to her childhood home. No matter how ungodly it’s become. But that’s only natural, right? By the time they lead the donkeys up to the top of the hill outside the city, Lot’s wife has almost completely let go of the nostalgic sensation haunting her. Almost.__________________________________________________________
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