Another Day

A old man's moment in time.

“Phew,” the old man sighed. “That had me worried.”

            It was not often a man of his age and experience needed to worry about his words. They flowed smoothly and paced to the listener. Paused when needed to be paused so the listener could grasp what he said. Modulated to the rhythm of rising and falling inflections learned as a child from his Grandfather who spoke with a deep Jewish accent.

He pushes against the heavy desk forcing the chair to glide backwards over the carpet, leans forward so his falling weight gives his body impetus to rise and in so doing, helps him to stand. He stares at the screen, again reading the reply to the e-mail he sent yesterday.

He speaks in a whisper as if wishing no one would hear him although he is alone, “I hate e-mail. My words are flat, black against a light gray background, and without the tones and inflections of a human voice.”

He shuffles his feet forward, one short slide after the other as he heads for the kitchen. “It’s time for coffee and sitting on the porch. And time for enjoying the bitter taste of black, French roast coffee and then the acrid feel of tobacco smoke following right behind the coffee.”

He turns and again looks at the screen. “Yes. Today will be a good day.”