moving day

The commotion began with a sudden banging on the door, the old man yelling, Michael, can you get that? Uncharacteristically, silence answered.

When the pounding began again, he shouted For cripes sake! and headed across the house to answer it himself. But he was too late. Men wearing heavy leather boots tramped in with folded cardboard packing boxes while Michael held the door, the old man staring in open mouthed surprise.

What are you doing! he yelled, the men wrapping lamps, pictures and books in his study before stowing them in the assembled boxes. But they ignored him even when he waved his arms and stuttered in exasperation.

Michael! Where are you?

Breathless, he rushed from room to room but only found other men filling more boxes with his things.

Quivering with rage, he hollered, You can't wait until I'm dead and buried to steal my stuff? Entering the kitchen, he found his son sitting with his head in his hands.

Listen Michael, he pleaded, I know you kids tried to talk me into moving into a smaller place, but I never agreed. Can't I have a say in where I live? Your mom and I bought and paid for this!

That's when his nostrils noticed with aching pleasure the scent of a grilled cheese sandwich in a hot pan, something he had not tasted since his wife died.

This time his voice cracked with emotion - Mom taught you how to make a proper grilled cheese?

Can I eat half?

But before Michael answered, one of the workmen entered to tell him that the moving crew had arrived and were starting with the big furniture items while the packers finish filling boxes.

In a panic, the old man rushed into the living room where the men were breaking up the sectional sofa and loading it into the waiting truck.

The movers ignored the old man's yells and threats, the house soon emptied of fifty years of his life. In his desperation, he returned to the kitchen, but Michael had already left.

The stove was off, the pan and the plate in the sink with naught but crumbs of the heavenly sandwich remaining. Seeing an envelope on the counter with his name, he picked it up absently and tucked it in his pocket.

MICHAEL!

They're sending me to a nursing home, he thought in a panic.

Scouring room after room, he called for Michael again and again, beginning to weep for the first time since his wife died.

Entering the master bedroom, it echoed with sadness, a sudden bell compelling him to turn toward the wall behind him. The walk-in closet had opened, the old man gaping in horror at an elevator operator.

Ticket please, he asked and held out his hand.

Where are you taking me? the old man countered.

Your destination's on your ticket.

The old man pulled it from the envelope in his pocket before stepping onto the elevator like a condemned man.

Going down it is.