In the low light of early morning,
birds began to wake and sing. Fresh dew still clung to the tall unattended
blades of grass in the back yard of the Spiller home. Outside the world seemed
to just be coming alive. Meanwhile, inside the Spillers modest yellow cottage
movement and wakefulness had long since begun. The call of a chickadee sounded
from the clock on the wall of the tidy kitchen, alerting them to the coming
seven o'clock hour.
Gail Spiller, a short, bubbly woman, who had
turned sixty three just two days prior, hummed a tune from a forgotten country
song as she put bacon into a pan. Her voice sounded over the popping grease.
“Al
you'd better hurry,” she said. “The dog's scratching at the door and starting
to sing.” Her voice bounced through their home with the loving urgency of a
woman who had no interest in cleaning up anyone's mess at this hour, let alone
a dog’s.
Hearing
his wife beckon, Allen hastily dropped his razor on the side of the sink.
Slipping on his moccasins, he trotted at a clip towards his wife's voice. He
knew the consequences of doddling all too well when it came to a dog with a
bladder the size of a squirrel, but more importantly a tired wife.
Allen
Spiller was two years and six months his wife's senior. He had a kind face with
a small freckled nose and round, rosy cheeks that gave way to deep dimples when
he smiled. In his youth his head had been adorned with a full scalp of rich
auburn hair; at sixty-five however “full head of hair” had become a relative
term. The hue of his hair had also changed through the years, although somewhat
less dramatically than its thickness. What had previously been a deep auburn,
Gail now affectionately referred to as sugar and cinnamon. Al, as Gail called
him, stood 6' 2”, with broad shoulders and a thick chest. His protruding
midsection clung lethargically to what had once been an athletic frame. His
arms and legs still bulged with muscle, displaying what his children called “old
man strength”.
Allen
appeared in the kitchen doorway, panting slightly from his short jog from the
bathroom. Walking by his wife, he couldn't help but notice her turning away
from him, most likely in an effort to conceal a chuckle. This warmed him
somehow. Having a wife that still giggled at the sight of him after over thirty
years of marriage, and two children was a blessing indeed.
“The
old fellow's getting worse than me in his senior years,” said Al. Gail smiled
an appreciative smile, winking at him as he bumbled over to the dog and snapped
the warn leather leash on the jubilant yet portly beagle. True to form, Darwin
welcomed Al's arrival as he did every morning, with a low ear piercing bellow
and a overly wet kiss.
Walking
outside, Al caught a look at his reflection in the kitchen window, and like his
wife he too couldn't help but chuckle. The sight of a man dressed in nothing
more than a ratty tee shirt, flannel pajama pants, and moccasins, face covered
in foam, chasing after a roly poly beagle was most certainly a sight worth
laughing at. He didn't really mind laughing at himself from time to time. He
remembered his mother telling him from a young age, that to stay happy you have
to find joy in the little things.
“Aren't we a sight for sore eyes this morning,
Darwin?” he mused. The ancient hound ignored his master’s voice feigning
deafness, and preceded sniffing the front yard vigorously before choosing a
small stone sculpture of a boy picking flowers as the locale for his morning
relief.
Al
moved his from foot to foot trying to remain warm in the cold air of the spring
morning. The thermometer on the side of the shed read thirty eight degrees.
“C'mon
Sniffy Long-stockings,” said Al through gritted teeth, “Some of us have places
to go, people to see, and things to do today,”. Obliging, Darwin finished his
business and the two trotted back up the stairs as fast as two old men could
go. At the top of the three steps, Allen bent down and received today's edition
of The Adler Tribune from the jaws of his trusty companion. It was a parlor
trick they'd developed when he’d been a puppy, and one that proven to be immeasurably
useful to Allen as he'd gotten older and less flexible. Last Killing
Frost of the Spring, read the front page article, followed by a story
that revealed the details and final results of this year’s Boy Scout pinewood
derby.
By
the time he had finished shaving and dressing, Gail had finished preparing
breakfast, and had already started in on the paper. The sports and weather lay
on his place mat next to a full plate of bacon, and eggs, and a warm biscuit.
He glared in disgust at the jug of soy butter that sat on the table in front of
him. The low sodium bacon had been one thing, but this hogwash was another
matter entirely! He looked up at Gail, mouth agape in protest.
“Doctor’s
Orders” she said. She had cut him off before he'd even had the chance to
challenge her ruling on the field. Gail was a determined woman, and one who
ruled the house with a gentle but firm hand. Looking nonchalantly over her
reading glasses Gail addressed her husband before taking a slurping sip of tea.
“What's
on the agenda today, dearest?” she asked. Al proceeded to list off the
appointments he had scheduled and then rattled off the rest of the day’s plans.
He was surprised himself by how short the list actually was. In his older years
Allen had developed an affinity for making a few mundane tasks last an entire
day, several if he was lucky and played his cards right. Although nearly always
cordial and timely, he found a certain sense of retreat in taking his time with
his daily routine. His wife on the other hand, saw the open ended nature of his
Thursday as a perfect opportunity to check a few items off the honey-do list.
She put down her paper, and proceeded to clear her throat, a telltale sign that
he was about to be drafted for labor. Uh oh, here it comes, thought Al, a
sheepish grin creeping over his face.
“If
you can find the time today, love...” she started.
Al slowly laid
down the sports section, and looked up at his wife. To his surprise he found
her staring into his eyes in that way that he always found irresistible. It was
as if in her sparkling blue eyes time had stopped. Instantly they were both
young again; so innocent, and head over heels in love. He blushed like a kid
caught in the act of naughtiness.
“Would
you make it a point to stop at the hardware store and the market at today?” she
asked.
He remained
motionless like a man lost in a dream; fork poised mid-air between plate and
mouth, a flaccid piece of egg teetering dangerously on the edge of the tines.
Her look had caught him off guard, and he loved it; it filled his soul with
passion. The completion of all the chores and odd jobs in the world would never
be close to enough payment for this look.
Seeing she now had his undivided attention, she proceeded.
“I'll
need you to pick up the cement to fix that loose brick on the front step, and
beans for the church supper on Saturday.” Coming to from his trance, Allen
leaned forward and gently kissed his wife.
“As
you wish, sweetheart,” he said. He stuffed the remaining half of his biscuit
into his mouth and pondered the tasks he'd been given. Although he had no
objection to the tasks, he couldn't imagine where the sudden urgency to repair
those several wiggly bricks on the front steps had come from. It had been years
since the two bricks on the far right side of the fateful second step had come
loose from the mortar. The incident was a result of their oldest child, Jeffery
Spiller's, failed sophomore physics project involving a dropped dumbbell and
gravity. The Spiller's, being true “New Englander's," hadn't been hindered in
the least by the steps faultiness. After all, they didn't use the front steps,
save for weddings and funerals, the notion of using it as the primary entrance
to their home was a foreign one and borderline blasphemous. He concluded that his
wife's urgency was a sure sign that she’d at last succumbed to cabin fever. It
was his humble opinion that weather like this was the Achilles heel of all
women. They become overwhelmed with a sick sort of compulsion to get odd jobs
finished, or at the very least, assure that their hubby's hands were not idle.
“And
what might I inquire is on your docket today?” he asked. He knew that she'd
been waiting for him to question her. Gail humble though she was, craved
excitement and adventure, and the spotlight was now on her. He could tell by
the reflection in her azure eyes that she had something big planned for this
day; it would surely be more exciting than his ho hum Thursday.
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