200 CCs - June 2016

New Routine
by Pamela Hobart Carter
One morning, it’s quiet.
One morning, he isn’t down first, brewing the
sputtering espresso, opening and banging doors
and drawers for newspapers and spoons.
One morning, you’re first.
You don’t understand until you check the clock
on the stove, the clock on the microwave, your
wristwatch, and add all the numbers for the same
result.
You draw your hand away, step backwards a
couple of paces, turn, and walk to the kitchen,
where you linger over buttered toast and a hardboiled
egg. The house has a lovely stillness. It
smells of singed crust and newsprint. The Times
is entirely your own. It is possible to savor your
coffee in this solitude.
One morning, you’re first, and too happy to
understand this is how death sounds.
Your heart hammers, your feet pound up the
stairs and race to his door—shut, and darkening
the hall. (Only half-awake, you missed this on
your way down, the too-dark hall. He likes to air
his room and let the day circulate.)
Hand-on-knob, you hesitate. He’s just sleeping
in.
For the first time ever?
He was tired last night.
Too tired.
The soft noises from the other side of his door
may be a sleeper’s long breaths or the curtains
luffing in the morning breeze.
Pamela Hobart Carter has worked as a geologist and teacher before becoming a writer. A
few of her short, short plays have been produced in Seattle where she lives. More about
Pam and her writing is at amazon.com and notalkingdogspress.com.
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