Lit in Progress

Michael’s brown eyes hung on the clock in his apartment bathroom. His teeth were brushed, face shaven, hair gel’d and drying. His shirt lay over the bed corner, unbuttoned. He pulled it over his arms, buttoned it up, felt the cotton folds like paper creases press into the inside of his elbow.

His coffee machine burbled as he pulled on socks, shoes, tie. His jacket hung in the far corner of the closet, and he pulled it down. The hanger bumped the ceiling, settled back between other garments. He filled his thermos with black coffee, fitted the lid.

Michael stopped at the table by the door. His phone went in his pocket, his wallet in another. His keys stayed in his hand. The messenger bag he had carried for two years, over his shoulder.

His Mercedes was waiting for him. She was glad; he seemed to be in a good mood. He was not late. She beeped; he turned the key and she backed out of the space. Her wipers cleared off the tree’s deposits from the windshield. He turned on the radio, and she sang to him, “God bless the child that’s got his own…”

I think he’ll do well today, she thought. He needs to rest, to breath a little, but he’ll do well. As long as he doesn’t think about it too much.

His jacket pocket started bzzzing, muffled by its closeness to his chest. “Hello, this is Mike.”

She heard the voice of his mother, felt her voice going through her side window, keeping up with them. She felt his back tense slightly as his mother said something. “I know, Mom. I’ll be there.” She said something else, and his hand was cold as he shifted gears. “Yes. Eight o’clock.” Pause.

“How’s Dad doin’?” Mercedes felt him sadden, soften, as he thought about his father. She thought about the place he visited his father at, with its well-kept parking lot and brown and white signs with arrows pointing to “obstetrics,” “bone & joint,” “cardiorespiratory,” places inside the tall, sprawling brick buildings whose waves of electricity made her edgy and anxious to leave.

The place where Michael’s father stayed was on the fifth floor, whose windows were dark and where only one elevator went.

“Mm. Okay. See you then, Mom.”