Just Hanging Out

For fifty years I told Eleanor nothing was one of the things I did best. Now that she’s gone—the Big C, like her mother and sister—I find nothing is harder to do.

I read some but my old eyes only allow so much. I tried writing what they call flash fiction but found I wasn’t very good at it. My back informed me bowling was out of the question the one time I tried it. Miniature golf isn’t much fun by yourself. Neither is eating out.

My daughter said I should move into a senior housing facility, that there were some really nice ones in the area, and I wouldn’t have to mow the lawn, or clean, or any of that stuff. For someone who likes to do nothing, it sounded ideal. I went with her to a couple and visited three others on my own. I told her all about my experiences. She smiled, until I said I was too young for those places.

So here I am on the tire swing I put up for Frank Jr. on his third birthday oscillating like a pendulum in a Poe story, waiting for... well, I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. Eleanor’s not coming back. I thought about moving in with one of the kids, but I’m waiting for them to suggest it. I suppose I could be a greeter at Walmart, but that doesn’t seem to be doing much more than nothing. On the plus side, I’d get paid for standing around.

Maybe I just have to be more patient—something also new to me. Or I can keep swinging until noon, then go see if anybody I know is having lunch at the Senior Center. Or maybe I’ll just keep swinging and stay home and have a salad. It’s hard making a decision when all your options add up to doing nothing.

BIO: Jim Harrington lives in Huntersville, NC, with his wife and two dogs. His stories have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, Ariel Chart, Flash Phantoms, The Yard, Free Flash Fiction, Short-Story.me, and others. More of his works can be found at https://jpharrington.blogspot.com.