Falling Leaves in the Late Afternoon

I go to the dentist. The dentist plays Journey. The dentist doesn't tell me, much to my relief, that I need a root canal or anything scary. Instead, she cleans my teeth, spraying water in my face, and advises me to get a bunch of cosmetic fillings.

The Girl at school. At school with new friends. Confident. Newly six. Buying pizza and chocolate milk in the cafeteria.

The Boy at school. Paint on his shirt. Happy but weeping after the longest of days.

The husband at work. Surrounded by new colleagues. Eating a chicken sandwich, spilling lettuce on his desk.

Fall. It comes. It comes in a hurry. The walnut trees are the first to denude. The golden leaves. The shy, lean branches.

For dinner, I will serve chicken again. Chicken because it was half-off on Wednesday; chicken because these are dangerous times. Though what I really want is fish, though what I really, really want is for someone else to cook dinner, I will make chicken because I must. Because I must. Because everybody is getting hungry.

I cough until my muscles ache, until I think I'd better call the doctor. The air, rare and crisp and yellow. A tissue held up to my mouth.

In another three hours, the debate. The debate. I'll microwave some queso dip and popcorn, praying for humanity as I wait for the beep.