When J- woke up that morning, he knew he was going to die soon. He had started every day for the last year or so with this feeling. The weight of his aged body had suddenly struck him and he knew it could only keep up a short while longer. Keep up with what? He thought to himself. The world turning he supposed. It was only natural - he was after all, an old man. He had come to terms with that years ago when the doctors told him he had to stop drinking, eating dairy, eating red meat, going to bed within three hours of eating, the occasional cigarette, and as he saw it, living a life worth living.
J- knew this thought was childish and stubborn but he also knew by the constant aching in his hands and knees and frequent yet percussive urination that he could ignore his age no longer. It would have been a merciful act of fate if he had passed with the love of his life whose mere presence gave him joy and comfort. She was stricken suddenly with a diagnosis that she didn’t even know to fear at her young age of 38. A freak case of cancer that was unaccounted for in her hereditary or lifestyle. He found love in a partner a few years later but forever was marred by an unshakeable understanding of his own mortality.
He rolled out of his sagging bed and shuffled along the hardwood floor to perform his morning ritual. Scratching his soft body he stood over the pristine porcelain bowl and waited. It would be a full 20 minutes before his bladder was empty although it may as well have been hours the way his mind wandered. He was used to the wait by now. Twenty minutes went by in the blink of an eye. A whole day really only lasted around 12 hours and each was marked by an overwhelming sense of repetition. Weeks were measured by visits to the Y and visits from his youngest, Emily, who dutifully and loyally helped him do laundry, pay his bills, and brought his groceries.
His breakfast consisted of a cup of tea (herbal as caffeine was banned along with anything else remotely stimulating), toast with butter (which he insisted upon) and an egg - one boiled in a batch a couple days earlier during one of Emily’s visits.
After his meal came the laborious task of getting dressed. His arthritic limbs were much more at home in a robe and sweats but Emily scolded him for his slovenliness and insisted he keep up the appearance that he was alive. “You can’t just sit around the house doing nothing. You’ll take years off your life doing that”. His clothes were well worn but not shabby. He knew he was lucky someone cared otherwise he’d live in his own filth until one day he fell down and wouldn’t get up. He didn’t really know why he cared - he thought to himself how easy it would be to find his end at the bottom of a bottle and be all the more blissful for it.
But still, he trudged on. His life lacked conflict. After time at the front lines, his wife’s own defeated battle, and living in an overall safe and comfortable world, he had nothing to live for, except his children. It was enough, he supposed, to delay for them the inevitable grief of dealing with his death. His bland meals suited his dulled taste buds. His small circuit was tailored to his limited mobility. His soft clothes were aptly matched to his aged flesh.
Despite an overwhelming aura of ennui. J- was not unhappy. He was too old to be unhappy, too tired. One by one his friends were dying, His favorite shops were closing, and his body parts failing. He had come to terms with his mortality a long time ago.
He switched his slippers with his shoes and prepared to leave the house. Another laborious process that was at the same time endless and instant. Today was one of his physical therapy days. The community center was a short bus trip away but he didn’t feel as at ease in his neighborhood anymore and the walk to the bus stop sparked in him an unusual inner turmoil. When did the sun get so hot? Where did all the garbage come from? And the chain link fences? Emily said that there were families moving in to the neighborhood and renting from companies that bought batches of houses. Nothing to be worried about - no violence that he knew of - an old man could still walk around at 3pm and feel safe.
The bus stop smelled like piss. Unfortunately he had to sit down. His aching limbs didn’t permit long periods of standing. He wished he could walk to his appointment but it was too hot and too far and he was too old.
When the bus finally arrived he made his way up the steps that had never before felt so steep. The bus driver nodded to him and was kind enough to wait for him to sit down before stepping on the gas. J- felt exhausted when he sat down and no matter how hard he tried, could not resist the urge to close his eyes.