FEATURE STORY

MORNING ROUTINE
by Wayne Scheer

Seven o'clock meant sleeping late to Raymond while Lizzie always needed another hour. He ached to wake Lizzie with a kiss, as he'd done for most of the past fifty-two years. Instead, he whispered, "I love you," and flat-footed his way to the bathroom.

He knew if he stayed in bed too long his back ached. Lizzie's back never seemed to bother her. 'Wonder Woman,' he started calling her after his own body parts began failing--first his thyroid, then his heart. Except to have babies, she'd spent only one night in a hospital.

Just one night, he repeated, worried that he was beginning to talk to himself. He prepared the morning coffee. Even after she had switched to tea, he still made a full pot every morning. "Don't know how to brew half a pot," he'd tell her. He'd spill the remaining coffee into the sink every night.

"You could save it for the next day," she'd say.

"I squeeze out the last bit of toothpaste and add water to the shampoo bottle when it seems empty. I turn off lights and recycle. If I want to waste a couple cups of coffee, I deserve it."

She never argued with him. At least not about that.

Raymond chuckled, and made his way to the front porch. Two things he could count on every morning--the newspaper thrown onto the front porch and Lizzie wanting to sleep late. He placed the paper on his rocking chair, the one next to hers, and shuffled back to the kitchen for the first coffee of the day. The full pot wasn't ready yet, but he poured a cup anyway. Greatest invention of modern times, he remembered telling Lizzie, the dripless coffee maker.

He made it back to the porch, sipping as he walked and proud not to have spilled a drop. He placed the cup on the small table between the two rockers and read the paper. Nearly an hour, and two cups of coffee later, Raymond glanced at the empty rocking chair and shuffled back to the bedroom.

"Good morning, Lizzie," he said, pulling the covers off her side of the bed and exposing two pillows. He moved the pillows to the head of the bed next to his and smoothed out the blanket. He added the small quilt Lizzie had sewn with fabric remnants and scraps. The green floral swath he remembered from a favorite dress.

More than ever, he wished he could wake her with a kiss.