Ordinary Time

His face sags, the once square jaw rounded, a collapsing tent, a sail with no wind. Since the stroke, his mouth is stuck in a half grin. He’s in his office, surrounded by law books, looking at cases he argued or presided over. A lawyer, senator, judge; laws are what he lives for. His left eye squints involuntarily. The other swims, confused. “What time is it?” he asks.

We look at his watch. Nothing fancy; simple, gold. I’ve never seen him late. Never unshaven, unshowered, unbuttoned, untied—until today.

Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.
The password field is case sensitive. Account & Password Help.