The narrator feels like he just wants to lie down but also feels he should be standing up and looking for an oxygen mask. He questions the purpose of life when it feels like he is living in a house underwater, when the entire world is wheezing, and when there is just so much going on to worry about that it feels like wearing “a knit sweater in summer” (215). He questions why he is the only person who seems to realize everyone is suffocating and decides to finally get up and look around the house for an oxygen mask. He figures that since his mother keeps everything and his father never throws anything away there must be one somewhere in the house. He looks in drawers, under the couch, in closets and cabinets, and even in the cookie can where the needle and thread live but has no success.

Giving up, the narrator slumps back down on the couch where the channel is still unchanged. The news broadcast finally cuts to a commercial and it sends a tremor through his mother’s jawline that is so slight and rare that he’s surprised he didn’t miss it.