Daily Short Story: Tuesday Edition

July 16, 2:19 PM



Sharon Hicks was dismayed to recall, very suddenly one tepid afternoon in mid-July, that she was forty-three years old. The moment hit her suddenly, at exactly 2:19 PM, just as she was bending over to water her azaleas.

She had no family to speak of, save two garden koi and an elderly cat named Mark. Strangely, the thought didn't depress her the way it should have. Her birthday had just passed last Tuesday, and last Tuesday was recent enough for her to still feel significantly forty-two-ish. Her hair might be turning gray, but overall Sharon felt she had aged rather gracefully, and if she had gained a pound or two--well, the occasional midnight caramel was worth it. 

She had dated a couple men over the years, and nice ones, too. Jerry, came the nostalgic whisper. Jerry had been nice--warm, romantic, a great dancer. She'd forgotten the others' names now, but she knew she had enjoyed herself. 

She'd always wanted children. She loved Mark, though, a scruffy tortoiseshell with frizzled whiskers and cloudy yellow eyes. Sometimes, as she lay in bed in a delicious sunny-morning doze, she'd feel him land lightly at the foot of the bed, then the whump of air as he padded along her comforter and nosed his way under the crook of her elbow. She'd crack open an eye, see his familiar squashed-ear, crimped-whisker ugliness, then sigh and snuggle up until noon. 

But it would be strange, if anything was different. Well....Sharon paused. She was sure that having a man in the house would be nice. He'd come home in the evening for dinner. Afterward, they'd curl up on the couch and talk, and if she snorted a little when she laughed, he'd press a reassurance into her palm that said he thought it was sweet. She could imagine Jerry doing that. Jerry, she recalled, had had a rather idiosyncratic laugh, himself. 

Sharon stood stock-still on the edge of her driveway, watering can in hand. When Mark's wet nose touched her ankle, she jumped a little. 

Strange, she thought as she patted his grizzled head. I don't know why I thought about all that. 

She lowered her watering can to the ground and began to pick through her flower bed for stray leaves. She liked to keep her flowers clean; the new blooms were all the tenderest of colors. 

After a while, her thoughts spiraled away like water from the sprinkler in favor of the steady, familiar work. Beside her, Mark rolled in the soil, tail flopping from side to side. When a couple of the neighborhood kids rode by on their bikes, calling high greetings across the road, Sharon lifted her trowel and waved.