Friday the 13th

 Friday the 13th 

Today is Friday, the 13th. Tomorrow is Saturday, then Sunday, then Monday is a holiday, but I don’t remember for what.

When I came down to breakfast, Uncle Albert said, “Friday the 13th, she come on a Friday this month.” He was referring to a running gag from the old comic strip Pogo. I said, “Yes, she do.” And I sat down.

     Uncle Albert got up to pour my coffee. I usually do that – first thing. But I was a little shaky, so I sat down. He looked at me and he could see I was shaking and got up to pour the coffee so I wouldn’t spill it. He put the cream in and the sugar and stirred. He put the coffee on the table in front of me. He asked me if I wanted a slice of toast, he didn’t mind making it.

     “I don’t think so,” I said.

We sat at the table for I don’t know how long. The kitchen clock was behind me, and I didn’t want to turn around – I felt too stiff. I need clocks to keep track of time these days, it seems.

Uncle Albert with cat eyes and reading glasses

     Uncle Albert kept reading the paper. And I drank my coffee until the cup was empty. The last few swallows were barely warm.

“What do you want to do today?” I asked, when the cup was empty. He put the paper down and his reading glasses on it. Uncle Albert has this cat-like vision: 96 years old and he doesn’t need glasses except to read.

     He said, “I don’t know. What do you feel like doing?”

     I said that I didn’t know that I felt like doing anything, but shouldn’t we do something?

     “Not necessarily,” he said.

01.13.17

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