Kill Time

He raises his still thick with sleep head from the pillow and twists his neck to see the time.

His crusted eyes see the clock. "Ugh! 11:13 AM. Better get up," he mumbles, dry-mouthed, face down into his pillow.

Nothing much to do today, even if I do get up. He rolls over, "Ugggh," emerges from his mouth. Maybe I'll watch the 12 Noon Movie. Read? Do dishes, do wash? Eat? Guess I'll drink some coffee. Not much else to do. Just kill time.

Check the mail. Ya. Who knows what the mail might bring? "A letter from someone: Raymie or Paul. Maybe one from a prospective employer—who knows?" He slips into his slippers and puts on his robe. Passing through his sister's room, he trips over the telephone wire.

“Dang it…!” he groans.

Down the steps he trudges, into the bathroom. While washing his hands, he glances in the mirror over the sink. His short, brown, beard needs trimming as does his long, brown, disheveled hair. He does neither to either as he dries his hands on the bath towel.

He pulls his robe tight around his husky frame and as he opens the kitchen door wide.

“Brrrr…cold out here. C’mon dogs!” he growls.

The two family dogs scamper after him. Candy first, then Shari. Down the twelve steps to the mailbox he hurries. His slipper clad feet move against the November wind. He opens the mailbox and finds a Kaufmann’s ad, a letter for one of his sisters, and a bill from Blue Cross-Blue Shield. There is also a postcard from his best friend, Ron. He was away on a business trip, to Rome. Up the steps he retreats.

He begins to read the greetings on the postcard from Ron.

Hi Tom,

I'm writing this with your pen. Sorry, I didn't mean to rip it off.

("Yeah but you did!" Tom grunts to himself.)

Seeing all my old friends. How are things?

Fine, I hope! Business is good.

Your friend,

Ron.”

That's nice. I miss him. Glad things are good for him.

"Too cold!" He shivers.

“C’mon dogs! Get in,” he barks as he opens the door to let in his beloved canines.

He cleans out the percolator and makes 7 cups of coffee. While it perks, he turns on the TV. Not wanting to hear the news, he switches to Channel 22, to watch the 12 Noon Movie. Wonder what's on? He picks up the TV section of the paper and turns to the movie page.

Homecoming. Clark Gable and Lana Turner. Story about a doctor who was unable to save his nurse. Big deal! But Gable and Turner made some good flicks—apart and together.

As the coffee begins to percolate the aroma wafts through the room. After a few minutes, he takes a cup from the dish rack and he pours a cup. Hot and black, too. Drinking coffee is a good way to kill time.

This would make a great ad!

Scene: Man waiting at a bus stop, talking with a friend. The poster behind them reads, “Try our coffee. It helps kill time, only better than theirs.”

"Weird," he says out loud.

The movie’s already started. Black and white—must be late 40’s early 50’s—a war hospital movie. He sets the coffee cup on the the coffee table and drops onto the couch. Lana and Clark exchange some witty dialogue in their Army wartime hospital. No blood in that hospital!

It's raining outside now, the wind pushing heavy drops against the window. Winter’s now over a month away, but Fall has a funny way of blending right into winter. Rain into snow. Hard to concentrate on anything, now.

Sipping the coffee makes him feel warmer. God, I wish I had a job. First time in 10 years I haven’t had a job—haven’t worked.

“Dang!” he howls out loud.

Old movies, old books, old dishes to fill up my days. "Oh well, I might as well watch the movie and kill time." He puts his coffee cup back on the table and slides down on the couch. He rests his head on the pillow, twists his heavy head to watch the black and white TV.

© 2013 ajwrites57
A Long