Second Thoughts at Three in the Morning

23 March 2014

Paul Smalls began to think as he soared through the air. He thought about his dog, Humphrey, eleven years of age, for whom he had that morning purchased the “healthier” brand of kibble he saw advertised on television as a “promoter of longevity.” He thought about the note he had hand-written--because hand writing a note had always seemed so much more “authentic and sincere” to Paul than typing one--and looped through a string he tethered tautly around Humphrey’s collar for the next person who would find him. In a carefully curved and cautiously tiny script, the note read: “His name is Humphrey, eleven years old. Please only feed Humphrey the GOOD dog food (in the cabinet under the microwave). Please take good care of Humphrey, he is a good dog.”

            Paul Smalls thought about the love letters he had placed strategically on his bed an hour prior so that somebody could find them after he’d left and wonder by whom they’d been written with such heartfelt and feverish passion. The truth--which Paul had always sworn he would take with him to the grave--was that the love letters, all signed by a fictitious Laura, were from no such person. Paul Smalls had faithfully written a letter a week for five years from Laura to himself in which nebulous references were made to times they had shared together: the summer picnicking, the yuletide cozying up in front of a movie in the living room they shared before Laura had to “move away.” Paul remembered the time he and Laura had bought a whole intact watermelon at the grocery store and tried to cut it up themselves with a steak knife. In the end they had had to use the ax Paul kept in the coat closet and melon flesh went flying from the gaping wound. One time he and Laura entered Humphrey in a dog show upstate. And though Humphrey, with the (mostly indistinguishable) sporadic bald patches on his back and one runny eye, did not win any title to speak of, Paul remembered admiring the zeal with which Laura had insisted that Humphrey was the most handsome dog there. In fact, it had been Laura who’d encouraged Paul to adopt Humphrey from the pound seven years ago.

            As Paul watched the vertical windows melt past him in hazy blurs, he thought of how thankful he was to have Humphrey and Laura in his life. In fact, he almost thanked God for them but remembered he didn’t believe in any such thing as a God. But on second thought, Paul pondered, perhaps…if there were ever a time to start believing in a god…now would be the time.

            And so he thanked God.

            Suddenly an acute panic sent itself shooting up his limbs and Paul gasped for air, swallowing the safely familiar smog in wide mouthfuls. Blackness neared. And then it struck Paul Smalls that he had changed his mind.

            I don’t want to die anymore, he thought. Not with Humphrey at home and Laura waiting for me out in Ohio. He didn’t want to die. And so he shouted out to God, “Hey, God, I changed my mind! I don’t want 

Reviews

[Chris]

I felt it or something like it was coming from the beginning...just intuitive by your word choice I guess... but it was real enough that within my mind's current state - I understood the thought flow of your thought's flow... and it hurts. Life huh?

[Marie]

This is very good. THe stark cut off was a very good conclusion.

[Delmar Cooper]

Dear Ms. Murray,
Thank you for sharing your story," Second Thoughts at Three in the Morning," I read it with great interest. I thought it was innovative and well written. I look forward to reading more of your work.
Cooper