The Best Part

 

The best part of waking up is knowing you're not dead.

More often than not now, that was the song running through his head first thing in the morning—a little twist on the theme in the old Folger's coffee cup commercials. 

Well, there was another sign of getting old. If he sang it to his kids, they would probably have no idea where it came from. And, hell, they were in their thirties.

He carefully pulled himself out of bed. His left foot rebelled slightly as it hit the floor. It hurt, but it was marginally better than yesterday. Small blessings.

As he stood up, his back rebelled.  It started to twinge, but he carefully managed to avoid an all-out spasm. Back pain wasn't new. It's something that had been occurring for over two decades.  Most of the time, it was just an annoyance, as it was this morning.

The morning routine began with a trip to the can and a major league bladder distension. If it was one of those rare nights where he slept through without having to get up to urinate (sometimes multiple times), it might be one of those Austin Powers wees, one where you wonder if you might fill up the whole bowl.

Wash your hands thoroughly! These were COVID times, after all.  This was a new habit for him.  Sure, he had washed hands before, but not quite as compulsively and as long as he did now.

He checked his phone, that wonderful new device that put all knowledge at his fingertips.  So what did he check?  His Facebook feed to see if anyone had liked or responded to anything he had posted, see if he had any messages, and see any funny memes. Like most mornings, there was nothing there.  Well, except for Delbert McKenzie responding to one of his political posts with, "I thought you were smart than that!" Well, he thought, I fooled you, didn't I?

He opened the bedroom door and padded down the hallway.  He froze for a minute.  He thought he saw Waldo out of the corner of his eye. But he couldn't have – Waldo had passed six months ago.  It had been the longest he had been without a dog.

Sure enough, whatever fleeting thing he thought he saw dissipated.  He was alone.  Alone in a house he may soon have to give up.

He went to the kitchen, turned on the fluorescent overhead, and then put a K-cup in the single-serve coffee maker.  K-cups might be an environmental waste, but it wasn't easy to make coffee for just one with just him now.  Practically and speed won out over environmental responsibility.  Just something else to feel guilty about.

The flavor was called Donut Shop.  What the hell did that mean?  Was it supposed to taste like donuts?  It just tasted like regular coffee to him.  He was no connoisseur.  Coffee was simply a caffeine delivery system to him.  He did add two packs of Stevia to it and some powdered creamer (French vanilla, something he could distinguish in taste more than the actual coffee).

He took a sip and then looked at the time.  What the hell?  Fifteen minutes had passed since he got up.  How did that happen?  Did it take that long to take a leak and then come out here to get coffee ready?

He thought he had more time!  He needed to be at Freedom Tax Service by 8 AM!

He tried to gulp the coffee quicker, only for it to choke him, and have to backwash it into the cup. He'd have to skip breakfast and also his shower.  Oh. Well. Who's gonna know?  Slap on some deodorant and comb his hair, and he'd be good to go.

January 6^th, 2021.  Part of him wanted to stay and see the confirmation of the electoral college vote.  He was a political buff and realized it might not be as straight forward this year. Unfortunately, it was only the third day at his new job, and he not only needed to be there, but he also needed to be on time.

He took off his nightshirt and put on a blue dress shirt.  He instinctively reached out for a tie and then remembered it was his old job that required one, not his new job. Freedom wanted their employees to be dressed only a tad better than the clientele.  They wanted to come across as competent but also as accessible and friendly.  It also gave the impression that maybe they didn't cost as much money as the dressier tax folk.

Whether they cost more was an open matter, one he hadn't researched.  They mostly funded themselves by fast-forwarding the client's refund, at a heavily discounted amount, and then having the IRS check turned into Freedom dollars.  That didn't seem cheaper, but most of the clients didn't care because they got money the same day Freedom did their taxes.

He finished putting on his office clothes and saw he had a half-hour left.  It took twenty minutes to get there, so it was time to get out of the house and into the Nissan Sentra.

In taking off, he soon found another surprise.  The passenger side tire was almost flat.  Again.  He could pull into a gas station and fill it, but that would lose whatever little margin he had to reach Freedom on time.

Stay calm.  He opened the car glove compartment and got out a small bottle of baby aspirin, chunked two into his mouth, and started to chew.

Oh, well.  The start of another great day in the Southland.

The best part?  Aldie Martin wasn’t even sure that it was because he was not dead.  That was just a song in his head.

The best part may also be the worst part.  The joy of remembering her.  The pain in knowing she was not there.  Except as a memory, a Waldoesque shadow, her presence always on his mind, always just around the corner of his reality.

The worst part of waking up is knowing she’s not there.