A Morning with Roger

Roger went out to get the paper from the driveway. The plastic bag was covered in dew, the sun was rising, things were fresh.

"Roger!" called his wife, Karen, from the house. "Could you do me a favor?"

"What's that, dear?"

"Could you stay out there and never come back? Thank you!"

He sighed and looked at the headlines. Another strike, another plane downed in some vast unknowable body of water, another politician saying the same thing. The weather that day called for umbrellas, the upcoming week looked wet and grim.

Roger returned to his coffee and oatmeal. "Oh," she said, "you came back," and kissed him on the cheek. It was a routine of theirs turned habit, starting as one thing and becoming another, and now he wasn't sure if the sweetness detected in her kiss was of his or her devising. There was strange toast next to his oatmeal.

"What is this?"

"It looks like toast. Mary Lou brought over some cherry preserves yesterday, you know that, I thought it would be nice to try."

"Why is she always bringing us things?"

"Because," sat Karen, "she is a lonely old fool who thinks we like her. You don't have to eat it. It isn't very good." He was already halfway done with the first half. It tasted fine to him. The coffee was stronger than usual, the oatmeal filled with small clumps of brown sugar. In the fridge sat a chicken salad sandwich he had made the night before, and an apple, in a bag marked ROGER P. He shouldn't have to label his lunch at this age, he thought, but people are animals. People do what they want.

Karen followed Roger to their Corolla parked out front, incoming clouds gathering over the rising sun. She kissed him again, standing in her nightgown, and he wished she could stay that way. He liked nightgowns. She smiled at him.

"What if we stayed like this?"

She looked at him, quizzically. Her smile faded, and she went inside. Tomorrow morning, would her words be routine? Should he buy a new car? Was the Thordarson meeting today or on Friday? He got in his car and drove away, realizing a little too late that he'd forgotten his umbrella.