I was wiping off my yoga mat when I heard it. A delayed sound. A glitch.

It barely would be detectable if I were in a hurry or not one to notice details. I fit neither of those descriptions. I don't need an algorithm monitoring my speech to tell me that "Look!" and "Wow!" are two of my most-used phrases. Both are usually accompanied by a pointer finger aimed like an arrow at a distant target.

In this particular moment, I heard the eee-eee of something being cleaned. I heard it after I removed my hand with the towel from the mat. Not long after, but enough nano-seconds to notice that the action and its sound weren't completely synced.

I sat back on my heels, pulling my hand away like I'd hit a bad tooth while chewing. And the first thought that came to mind is the tape got stuck. Or the sound effect guy had fallen asleep in his booth. That I caught a snag in the curtain that hides all the props behind the stage.

I went about the rest of my day, scooping out the seeds from an overripe papaya. Folding the clothes from the dryer. Making the 45-minute round trip to the mailbox. Picking up a few odds and ends that I'd forgotten to get at the store.

But that sound. The eee-eee. It followed me all day.

I listened extra hard. I watched more carefully: the color sequence of changing traffic lights, my fingers across the keyboard, the wind blowing the trees.

Now, I'm not a paranoid person … even for a person who feels the need to say "I'm not a paranoid person!" But I've experienced enough — especially in this last year (I know, we all have) — to know that things aren't always as we expect them to be. And as much as we think we know, take that and times it by negative infinity, and you'll get close to what we actually know.

Is it a sign of maturity or resignation to admit that? I don't know. But there's a baby gecko moving like a tadpole across the railing in front of me as I type this. I think I'll go ask him if he knows.

I have a feeling he might.

P.S.

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Credits

Accompanying music: Sad Seine by Lambert

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