Laurence
June 19, 2010
On the way home from my jog I passed by the apartment complex where some people store their grandparents. A curly-haired woman with a tremendous paunch and a so-so grasp on blush was wheeling an old man and his oxygen tank down the ramp towards the sidewalk. For a moment, we were walking together, with the handrail between us. The old man looked at me and moaned “Laurence”. The woman pushing him looked at me and shook her head.
At home I undressed and looked at myself in the mirror. I was flush, covered in sweat., my shoulder-length hair in stringy knots. My body quivered in the periodic shock of the rotating tower fan. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone would ever call out “Avery” in a fit of dementia, or if life is a closed circuit like that, and we’re either the ones who remind us or the ones to be reminded of.
