It’s early
Friday morning and I still don’t know for sure if Alexander is coming home for
the long weekend. Every conversation
this week has ended with, “I’m not sure; I’ll let you know.” I ask him if he wants to come home, and his reply
is, “Ya, I need to get a haircut.” Perhaps
the barbers are on strike in Ithaca.
I leave my
house around eight. First to go to the
dermatologist, and then to pick up my lost (and then found) glasses in the
theater district, a four mile walk in all.
Along the
way my phone rings. “Hi; I’m not coming
home. None of my friends are going to be
around; there’ll be nothing to do. And
besides, I need to finish a project that ‘s due next week.”
I tell him
I understand; it’s his decision. But I’m
disappointed. I’d hoped to have sushi
with him, watch some Homeland and Modern Family, order-in pizza from Al
Forno, make him a good steak, and take him to a movie screening. Oh well, perhaps he found an available barber
after all!
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