I sit in my recliner,
dozing off my daily
swim and stretch at the club.
Phone rings.
My old college room mate,
now FaceBook friend.

Somehow,
he’s developed the habit
of starting conversations with

“So,…”

like he’s drawing
his own conclusions
about something,
as yet,
unconsidered by me.

“So,
I”m pissing crystal slivers lately.
Had a cystoscopy yesterday.
Margret wouldn’t approve
of my putting that on Facebook
so I decided to call you instead.
What’s it been?
Two months?”

“6, Jim.”

“6 months!
No way!”

“Yes, way.”

“Ok,
so the phone works
two ways, you know.
And we’ll always have Facebook…”

“Not arguing with you, Jim.
No problems.
How are you….
you know…
down there?”

“Enlarged.”

“Enlarged?
Like 87% of guys our age
or something to worry about?”

“87%, yeah, that’s what
my Uro doc said.
But, Jesus!
Pissing is a real treat!”

“How long?”

” So…,
7….maybe 8 inches.
Ha Ha!
Just kidding.
Another two or three days,
the pain stops,
Doc says.”

“Well, hang in there, Buddy!”

“Ha!
You know I’m well hung!
Ha Ha Ha!

So…
guess what
I’m sitting on!”

“Jim,
I know what you’re sitting on.
I bought it.”

“Yeah, right.
47 years ago!
I’ve rebuilt and reupholstered
it ten times since then!
Best Damn recliner ever built!”

“Still in your cellar man cave?”

“Yeah.
You know Margret
wouldn’t allow it
in the living room
after it started creaking-
when the spring broke,
so I brought it down here.
Had to hire Harold and Jesse
to haul it….
You’d think my own sons…”

“Well, they’re busy…”

“Yeah, but still…”

A long pause
punctuates the conversation.
Jim rarely mentions Margret
when he’s typing on Messenger

or any other time.

Not since she’s passed…

About a year and a half ago.

My Nancy liked her,
but has a hard time with Jim.
He’s crotchety, ya’ know…

(And that recliner creaked
when it was new.)

There’s a patchwork quilt covers it now.
Margret and Nancy had a
marathon quilting bee.
Nancy did most of the work.
Margret would tire and doze.
Nancy wanted to finish,

well,

before…

Jim put it on the recliner,
after…
Spends most of his days,
probably some of his nights
down
there,
now,

wrapped in it.

Typing,
or,
sometimes,
talking to
me
or,
Margret.

“Jim, how enlarged,
really?
What did your Doc say?

Silence coils,
like a gray snake,
a great sadness in him,
at the end of his line.

I know.

“Jim? You there?

“Ken…”

“Yeah, Jim…”

” So…
Tell Nancy to take the quilt.
an’ you,
you take your old chair back.
Don’t let Harold or Jesse
toss it…

after…

OK?”

“OK.
I’ll put it in my den.”

“Thanks.

So, I’ll call ya,
when,
you know…”

“Sure,

Jim?

So,
how about Nancy and I
take a drive up there…
Next week, maybe…”

“Would ya’?”