Night was the Worst Time
by Martin Green

 

 

Night was the worst time, he thought.

Over time he’d devised a routine, or routines, to get through the day.  It began with not getting out of bed  in the morning when he first woke up, which was between eight and nine.  Instead, he’d stay in bed, idle thoughts drifting through his mind, or maybe no thoughts, for half an hour or even longer.  That shortened the day.

Then there was the breakfast routine, first the pill taking, the one for high blood pressure, one for acid reflux, one for something else he’d forgotten what, finally the vitamin supplement Sally had insisted he take because he hated vegetables.

After this, the preparation of the cereal and fruit (fruit was supposed to be healthy for oldsters), and after that the best part of the day, maybe the only good part, the leisurely cup of coffee while he did the New York Times crossword puzzle.  He’d been doing the puzzle for years and it was supposed to keep the mind sharp.  He hoped it did.  He knew it didn’t do anything for his memory.  He was always forgetting things.

By the time he’d dressed and shaved it would be eleven or maybe half past eleven and by the time he’s cleaned up the kitchen and did whatever other housekeeping he had to do it was already one or later and time for lunch.  

The afternoon was a time for reading.  If the weather was good he’d sit on the enclosed patio where he could look out over the houses behind and see trees and sky.  Having some contact with nature was supposed to be good.  This was his. Sometime in the afternoon he’d watch the one hour of cable news he allowed himself.  Considering what the news was nowadays that was enough.  Around four or five o’clock he would begin to feel tired so he’d have what his Irish daughter-in-law called a liedown.  It felt good to stretch out on the bed after sitting for most of the day.  He’d almost always fall asleep.

Sometime between six and seven he’d prepare the evening meal.  People sometimes asked him what he did for eating.  He’d answer the same thing they’d done the last two years during Covid.  Sally had all but stopped cooking as she found it difficult to stay on her legs for any length of time.  They’d also stopped going to the supermarket so that, being old persons, they wouldn’t risk getting infected.  So they started ordering from the supermarket and found that worked pretty well.  Of course sometimes there’d be something substituted for an item they ordered and this lent a sense of adventure when their order was delivered.  What would they get or not get.  He’d simply continued doing that.  It might not be the best kind of diet but it sufficed.  And about once a week they’d order something from one of the local restaurants through Doordash or Grubhub.  He’d also continued doing that.

Their practice at night was to sit in the living room and watch television.  This was something he couldn’t bring himself to do now that Sally wasn’t there.  So he saved any e-mails he had to send for the night.  For an hour or so he watched an old TV show on Netflix or Amazon Prime on his iPad.  He favored British crime series.  He might have already watched them but if so it was years ago and he’d forgotten them.

 In any case, the nights were the hardest to get through.  It was at night when he realized what he thought of as his situation - an old guy in an empty house and Sally, who made being an old guy bearable, was gone, taken away from him.  It was not a good situation to be in.  In fact, it was pretty awful.  Yes, nights were the worst time.  But at least he could get through most of the day.

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