Eight Days

"Nothing is certain these days," were the words Jessica heard herself say as she woke from a sweaty, restless sleep. She heard them echo through her mind while she struggled to slow her breathing, fighting against the panic that fueled her still-racing heart.

She knew it was...well... it was *everything* that contributed to the sleep issues and terrors. Politics. Finances. Injustice. Eggs. Bird Flu. Health in general. Michigan gray skies. Racism. The upcoming flight cross country in eight days.

The plane crashes and accidental collisions on the landing strips over the past few weeks were each tragedies as families were broken and lost lives grieved. Jessica couldn't bear to learn the details of the lives so abruptly stopped, even though social media swam with their faces and headlines screamed out their bios. And yet, she couldn't look away, either; just as her thoughts kept pawing over her fears regarding the upcoming trip.

Eight days. Jessica tosses aside the blankets and sheet, easing her toes into the slippers beside the bed, then stepped softly down the hallway to the bathroom.

Rationally, she knows that the majority of planes safely takeoff and land every day. She KNOWS this, but her jangled nerves and stressed subconscious doesn't give a fig about knowing anything and even her sleeping self refuses to relax. What she needs is a plan, a list of what must be done before the trip..

"What I need is coffee first," she announces to herself, "then I'll tackle the list." She added the zero-sugar creamer to the empty mug then set it under the nozzle and pressed the button waiting for the morning happy juice to flow.

Eight days. What if she actually does only have eight days to live? What should she do? What would she regret not doing?

"Chocolate!" she said out loud, "I would eat chocolate. Fudge. Cheesecake with dark chocolate ganache and raspberries." Jessica took a slow sip of the coffee, embarrassed that sugary sweets were the first thing on her list. They were things she missed eating but they hardly rose to the level of regret. What would she truly regret if she only had eight days left to live?

The kitchen chair skittered across the tilers as she pulled it back from the table and sat down with a stack of old envelopes and a pen. Karl always rolled his eyes when she set them aside to use as 'scratch paper', but they surely did come in handy now and then. Jessica took another gulp of coffee and started her list.

My Last Eight Days To Do List

"Now, doesn't that look a little self-important?" she chuckled to herself.

My Last Eight Days To Do List

Do It or Regret It List

"I suppose that's better," she mused. "Sounds like a Ron Popeil infomercial but whatever." She began to write.

• Send a letter to my sisters and brother.
• Letters to the girls.
• Letter for Karl.
• Call Mom.
• Gather my writing for that book I've meant to write.
• Ride a horse.
• Date night with Karl.

Jessica looked at her list of seven must-do things and was struck by how ordinary it was... well maybe except for the horse. They didn't have a horse and she had no idea where she'd find one in the middle of winter let alone where they would ride. She left it in the list anyway, because it was one of the things she'd always wanted to do.

"But, where's the daring? Where's the cinematic drama that a bucket list should contain? Am I, am I ...boring?" she muttered to herself. It's not that she hadn't yearned to travel; she had. But it was a targetless yearning, aimed vaguely towards Ireland and Italy, with a fleeting glance at Greece and England. No specific destination, just the desire to see places with storied histories.

Before the pandemic Jessica had started to come to terms with the fact that she would likely never travel outside of North America. The cost, the time: the difficulty of the how and the when overcrowded her own slim why. She would spend her life here, as she was.

Coffee now quite cold, Jessica looked down at the list as she carried the cup to the sink. Other than the horse there wasn't anything stopping her from doing any of these must-do items. Some were uncomfortable, some were time consuming, some were ordinary joys that made her life uniquely hers.

"No time like the present," she said as she turned back from the sink, put the half-full coffee cup in the microwave, and reached for her phone. She took a moment to mark one thing off of her list as she waited for Karl's Mom to answer the call.