A Good Monday
It had almost been a year since her death. It was a Monday. He hated Mondays. Jon sat alone at a table at “Sal’s”, an Italian restaurant that looked exactly like it should. He had been alone ever since she passed, it was a feeling he started to feel all too comfortable with. He was a shell of the man he once was. Jon slowly reached into his left jacket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. It was folded with the care of a fallen flag. He gently began to unfold it and started to read.
Nancy Francine Arbuckle 1946–1977. Nancy had a zest for life and passion like no other. She met her husband Jon at Garfield Elementary School in Muncie and in her words they were “together ever since.” Services will be held at the Church of the Blessed Heart on Thursday.
It was brief but to him it was perfect. He placed the clip back in his left jacket pocket. The waiter approached with Jon’s lasagna and Jon nodded a polite thank you. Lasagna was her favorite. Jon hated lasagna. Jon hated that she died. He hated being alone. He picked at the lasagna for a couple of minutes then threw down a fifty dollar bill and let the wine clumsily lead him out the back door into the alley. As he fell out of the restaurant he collapsed onto the ground, tears choking him. Why did she leave him all alone? Granted he had a dog but Jon was never a dog a person, he never understood dogs. How could they just blindly do what they are told no matter the consequences? And if he was honest with himself Odie only liked Nancy. This was his life. Alone. Desperate. On the ground next to Jon was a broken wine bottle. He picked it up and placed the beautifully jagged points next to the pale soft skin of his wrist; gently applying pressure like he was pushing into some doorway to an ocean of relief. Before he pressed harder he heard a cry from a trashcan behind him. Shaken he dropped the bottle and peered in the tin alley trash can where he saw the cry that saved his life. It was kitten. An orange tabby with black stripes who was plump, undoubtedly living off the discards of the Italian restaurant. Jon and the kitten surveyed each other. Jon picked up the kitten and hugged him, tears streaming from his face. The kitten hugged back. They were no longer alone. Jon Arbuckle took the kitten home, to their home. He hated Mondays but this Monday was a good Monday.
