He's not here

I walk to the back door
from unattached cement garage

rolling school case squealing while zig-zagging behind me

I reach for the knob and then remember:

he's not here

so I grab my keys, unlock  the door, and kick the warped, stubborn wood open

 I gingerly step through so as to not trip over two crying cats

he's not here

we look at each other

"It's just me tonight ---sorry--the big guy's working in Cinci."

I say as if they can understand

poor George--he misses him much more than Scruffy does

Scruffy is my buddy

George is Mike's

but Scruff isn't pleased about a long day in the dark, cold basement

which is what happens
when

he's not here

I lug my gear up the faded, scratched, creaking steps

the rolling case bums a ride on  the stair-seat (it came with the house)

once again I'm careful not to trip

while eager cats vie for first in the kitchen

the house is slumbering
he's not here

I stroll to the front door and unlock it with the ancient key

venture out on front porch for paper and mail

odd how quickly a person becomes accustomed to certain tasks being done

like the mail and newspaper waiting politely for me

nestled on my chair

but
not tonight
for
he's not here

supper alone

left-overs

I rest in recliner and nod off

eventually the routine kicks in

and I'm up preparing the coffee for the morning

packing my lunch

laying out my meds

putting my outfit together--

even jewelry

(I'm not a morning person),

tonight I hang everything on the back of the bedroom door

instead of the hallway closet

I won't have to worry about being quiet and not disturbing his sleep
in the morning

for

he's not here

missing the big guy

but am okay

for I know he'll be back in two days instead of two weeks

so no melancholy

just definitely aware
that

he's not here

Pictures showing life with the big guy:

George enjoying the attention

from the big guy

Scruff has this fixation with laundry baskets and boxes---she loves to roll around in them

Here she's having fun with the big guy.

I don't like to peel eggs---I will, but prefer not

So he sits and peels and swishes

all the while

scrutinized closely

by intrigued cats who wonder if this is a new game

(he quickly informed them it wasn't)

My guy settled in with his buddy, his head phones so I can grade papers without noise,

and a basket full of folded clothes

(another task that I don't favor--

I like doing laundry and don't mind hanging clothes and putting them away--

just not folding)

This will be the scene this weekend

once again

when

he's here

part of imperfect prose on thursdays