2 minute read
Peter Neil Carroll
Swept Away
The sound of a broom knocking against the legs of kitchen chairs, what my mother did most mornings after my big sister went to school, my father off to teach eighth graders music appreciation, and I, just starting kindergarten would rush to the piano to bang away with two hands some symphonic chaos I thought would prepare me for work in later life, as it had for my father, but was interrupted by my mother’s vacuum cleaner drowning out my performance. I’d run to the window to watch other men getting their cars to go to work, as I expected to do some day. Later I held my mother’s hand as she led me to school, passing a neighbor girl, Marjorie, a few weeks younger than I and sadly ineligible for kindergarten who begged me not to go to school but stay and play with her, a distressed plea I dismissed, saying, I need to go. Do you want your husband to be stupid?—so subtle, so obvious had we imbibed our social roles, boys for the work force, girls to handle vacuums and brooms, setting the stage for early marriage, no-fault divorce.
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Peter Neil Carroll
I’m Fine, Can’t You Tell
News came as text last night, a childhood friend of my daughter, offering to help get groceries, leave them on the porch. I wouldn’t be exposed, an amazing gesture as you can imagine, someone not obliged, willing to take the risk. I was touched at first and then it began to sink in. This young woman sees me as old though I’m sure I can care for myself, walk four or five miles every day, eat my oatmeal. I thank her for waking me up, that’s the exact thing this frigging virus has accomplished, a wake-up call. Sure I know I’m going to die not necessarily next Tuesday and here I am apparently on the verge, a pinch from eternity, you too maybe, who can tell, but it forces a person out of the rut when someone asks how are you doing. You answer fine, I’m fine, of course, I’m fine can’t you tell? and strangely they say I’m just checking in and don’t forget to ask if you need help and now my memory is questioned. Yes I forget a lot of things, even the young woman’s name sometimes but that’s normal as a person gets, ahem, older and I haven’t felt so unsure of myself, trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.
