The Last Day of My Life
by Joe Cappello
photo by alyssa m. lapinel
march,  30th, 2009
issue 26
 




    I am sitting on the edge of my bed, my feet flat on the floor. The alarm is still making those annoying beeps but I stop it by jamming my finger in its face. I’m still for a second. How many years have I put up with this? Like I need those beeps to turn on some latent switch in my brain to get going in the morning. Or a cup of coffee…or the dog licking my face (after he licks himself)…or those two “anchor persons”…a couple-less couple whose whimsical banter is supposed to make me feel good about the news. No matter…this is the last day of my life so I won’t have to put up with any of it any longer. I can do anything I want. I am the condemned man looking at a menu of last meals and the choice is all mine. I could cower and shake and scream and yell and cry. Loudly. For hours. Or I could lament about the usual, how I never got the chance to fulfill myself and I’ll never get to see my kids’ kids and why me, and so on. I could do any one of those things, but I want something that deflates this ritualistic bag of wind. So I’ll reverse things. Instead of taking my shower first, I’m going to floss and brush my teeth, gargle with mouth wash and shave. Then I’ll take my shower. How delightfully irreverent.



    I find it easier doing it this way. The mirror would fog over when I took my shower first and I’d have to wipe it with the towel so that I could see my face. I usually had to do this several times. But now that I’ve reversed the order of things, I don’t have to deal with a foggy mirror. Too bad I had to wait until the last day of my life to make this discovery. Living is learning and you can still learn even on the last day of your life.

     The only drawback: I don’t’ have time to write it down.