551. Anselm dies
© Bruce Goodman 14 April 2015
Anselm had no idea when he got up in the morning that he was going to die that day.
He rose about half past six and made the morning coffee. Following the usual routine, he took his wife, Almay, who was still in bed, a cup of coffee and a piece of toast with sliced tomato peppered in pepper. It was a ritual he’d done almost every morning for the nine years of their marriage.
Then he went into the bathroom, had a shave, and turned on the shower while he cleaned his teeth. The shower water always took a while to run hot.
He had a shower. After that he checked his email. Then he had breakfast. By then Almay had risen and was doing what she did most mornings; she set the washing machine going. Anselm was preparing to go to work.
“Can you stop by on the way home tonight,” called Almay from the laundry room, “and get a cabbage?”
“Anselm? Anselm?” she called. “Can you stop by on the way home tonight and get a cabbage?”
“Anselm? Are you listening?”