64 Argyle Road

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64 Argyle Road By Orly Berkowitz-Henkin - Photo by Marika Campbell-Blue

Sally, he’d smile, come over here. Look, see that one? In the ivory vest?

He’s going to win the marathon this fall. I know it.

He played board games with Diana in the mornings, and they bickered playfully.

He hated when she cut up his hard boiled egg for him.

Jesus, Diana, her lips quivered when she smiled at him. I know how to cut an egg.

The hallway in their apartment was long and narrow, and by July,

He couldn’t roll his wheelchair to the bathroom.

He had to have a chair installed in his shower.

Sally, he spoke softly in the kitchen, because the kids were watching television in

the next room and he didn’t want them to see him struggle to stand.

Sally grew worried every time he said her name like that. Sally,

She set down the newspaper and peered upon his withering body, trying not to wonder

What had become of this once driven philosophy professor. Sally, she smiled, but not really.

Would you cut my egg for me, dear?

Al’s recliner still sat by the window even though he’d been dead

for nearly a decade.

He liked to look down at the people in the park.

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