Thurman took his first sip and it made him smile.
Phyllis sat silent, but pleased. For all the grief she gave him she liked to see him happy doing things that were normal for a man his age.
What are you going to do today, she said. Make a list.
Yeah, gimme a second said Thurman.
No. The day started an hour and five minutes ago. You’re late. Get moving.
The coffee sharpened Thurman’s senses just enough to muster some kind of defense.
Excuse me, did I invite you into this sacred moment? Can I enjoy ten minutes of my day without anyone demanding anything from me?
Sacred. That’s funny. You’re funny. You had ten minutes. You took 65. You chose sleep. I waited patiently. Make your list. I’m bored.
Thurman ignored her. He thought about reading a book but that was on the other side of the room and he didn’t want to go that far. He thought about making breakfast but he had too many options. He finished his coffee, poured more. Maybe he’d check his email, but he didn’t want to, but neither did he want to sit still.
Thurman sat and drank his coffee.
Fifteen minutes passed before he realized that Phyllis had won. That pissed him off, but also made him smile.
The Average Life of Thurman Dogood 