all content © Albert J. Winn 2013
Café Figaro
I am telling my friend that I think that I am not afraid of dying. It is the long debilitating illnesses that I fear. The indignity of not being able to control my bowels, the horrible withering away that seems to be inevitable. Our food arrives. She has quiche, and I an avocado salad. The men at the next table are speaking intently to each other. Their arms so close that the hairs on their arms are intermingled. They look directly into each others eyes, sometimes at each other's lips. I expect them to kiss, and at one instant it seems they will, but they don't. I find that I am rooting them on, as if they are my home team. I want them to go for it. But they stop, and I am left frustrated and confused. My friend is telling me that it is natural to feel the anxiety and anger I am experiencing. I tell her I am hopeful, too. I am living my life as if there is no end. What I don't say is that I am just waiting.