Thursday, February 20, 2020

The Waiters

They wait at the table. Wait for meals. Wait for doses. Wait for bedtime. Wait.

She doesn’t hear well anymore. Oh with hearing aids – and repetition – she can understand the words.

He doesn’t see well anymore. Well, not completely. A big black dot seems to interlope.

They await together.

Behind the table – a desk. On the desk – a speaker. Music streamed at the highest volume. Some notes are heard. Some sounds are recalled. An aloud family. Everything is allowed aloud.

He waits for their eggs to scramble. He stirs. Stirrings. Everything’s stirring now. All emotions are stirred up.

“That’s Life.” Sinatra. She tips her head toward the sounds and slightly smiles.

He hears the sounds of singing from the dining room. He glances in and sees the two of them singing. He smiles and stirs the spatula.

“True Love.” Dean Martin. Their song. The song. “Do you hear that?” He pats her hand; she smiles. She turns her palm up. An embrace. They smile and wait for their eggs.

He puts their eggs on plates, carries them into the dining room, and waits to do their dishes.

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