Night Thoughts

                                                     By Jeff Baker 

            Liz sighed and switched on the bedroom light.

            “Are you awake?” she said.

            “No.” Carl said without looking up. “Is something wrong with the light?”

            “Something’s wrong with me.” She said.

            “What?” Carl said sitting up in bed.

            “That picture,” she said pointing at the wall. “Jeremy and Margie. When she was a few months old.”

            “What picture? What about a picture? I thought you loved that picture.” Carl said.

            “Our son has a baby,” Liz said. “We’re grandparents. We’re old. I’m old.”

            “Forty nine isn’t old.” Carl said.

            “Forty nine years, three months and six days.” Liz said, sulking. “Next come wrinkles, age spots, grey hair. I’m old. Oh, God, I remember ‘Your Show of Shows’ being on when I was a kid.”

            “Liz, you’re not old,” Carl said. “You just feel old. Because your son is changing diapers and we aren’t. Anyway, I’m fifty-one, I’m older than you. Only time I feel old is when I watch the ballgame and realize I saw some of those guys fathers play. Let’s go back to sleep.”

            “We’re both old,” Liz said. “There’s no way out of that.”

            “Come on, aren’t you proud of Jeremy?” Carl asked. “Single father? Magazine writer?”

            “Mmmm-hmmmm.” Liz said, settling her head back on the pillow.

            “Remember that big article he published last year that you framed and hung up?” Carl asked.

            “’Safe Sex in the Nineties.’ I remember,” Liz said with a smile.

            “Your sister didn’t know what to think,” Carl said.

            “My bridge club wanted to burn him at the stake,” Liz said.

            “Our gay, unmarried single-parent son likes to scandalize the neighborhood,” Carl said.

            “You mean, our gay single-parent son. ‘Unmarried’ is redundant,” Liz said.

            “Mother warned me about marrying an English teacher.” Carl said grinning,

            “I guess I’m just in one of those moods,” Liz said. “But I love that picture of Jeremy and little Margie. Oh, my God…My Little Margie! I just realized that! I wonder If Jeremy caught that?”

            “He’s gay, of course he did,” Carl said. “Turning out the light?”

            “Yes.”

            “Look, speaking of, you know, safe, you know. Do you want to…you know?” Carl asked, grinning again.

            “Oh, it’s late,” Liz said. “What is it, three in the morning?”

            “Eleven-fifteen,” Carl said.

            “What?”

            “We went to bed at nine-thirty, remember?” Carl said.

            “Since when do we go to bed so early?” Liz asked.

            “Since Carson retired. Nothing on T.V.,” Carl said. “It’s Friday,”

            “Besides, we’re old,” Liz said. They laughed. They kissed. “I’ve got the light.”

            In another moment the room went dark. After another moment, Liz spoke up.

            “Oh, God, I’m old; I remember ‘My Little Margie.’”

 

                                                —end—