Emery woke up to a buzzing sound that he couldn’t immediately place. He shifted in his recliner to check under his own ass, feeling out the chair with his palm. He placed his hand in the crease in the cushion by his right hip and heard something hit the floor. The buzzing resumed on the floor. Emery slapped the recliner shut and rocked back and forth three times, building up the momentum to get out of the chair. Once on his feet, he slowly turned back toward the chair, placed his hands on the armrests, and got down on his knees. He ran his hands underneath the recliner and plucked out his old flip-open cell phone. Then he crawled back to the front of the recliner, placed his hands on both armrests, and propped himself up. Once standing, he grabbed his tennis-ball walker (all the balls had managed to stay on since he lost the dogs) and headed slowly for the kitchen. Emery sat down on one of the hard kitchen chairs and opened up the phone to see who had called. It was his daughter, Carrie. He dialed her number.

CARRIE: Hello?

EMERY: Hey, pumpkin.

CARRIE: What were you doing? This is like the third time I called. You still didn’t respond to the text I sent yesterday.

EMERY: Oh, I always forget to check those. I was, uh, in the chair, and had a hard time getting up.

CARRIE: Is anyone there with you?

EMERY: I’m fine.

CARRIE: That’s not what I asked.

EMERY: It’s what you meant. How’s the Big Apple?

CARRIE: Same as ever.

EMERY: Come back and visit. I’ll pay.

CARRIE: I can’t afford to take off of work, Dad. We don’t get vacation time with this job.

EMERY: Well, they should give you vacation. You should tell them.

CARRIE: They don’t care, Dad. I’m one of, like, a hundred people.

EMERY: Could they take you off the schedule for a week? It’s just a grocery store. Whatever your pay is, I’ll pay it.

CARRIE: No, Dad, it’s like a six hundred dollar ticket, then you got to pick me up from St. Louis, then it’s like eight hundred bucks to miss a week of work, and they’ll take me off of overtime priority…it’s just a bad idea, Dad, no. You could always come here, though.

EMERY: Eh, my doctor says I shouldn’t travel.

CARRIE: He says you should do physical therapy, too. He says you shouldn’t be drinking so much. He says a lot of stuff, Dad.

EMERY: Yeah, well. I’m old.

CARRIE: You’re not that old.

EMERY: Well, I feel old.

CARRIE: Yeah, you lean into it.

EMERY: How’s that guy of yours? The boyfriend? You both should come visit. I’d make room.

CARRIE: He’s okay.

EMERY: ----

CARRIE: ----

EMERY: ----