Max Riffner

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This is the End

The sudden slap of my hand upside my forehead had scared the members of the meeting I was attending.

“What’s wrong?!”
“It’s my anniversary today!”

We got hitched four years ago yesterday, and I had already spaced off our anniversary (today is actually our seventh year of seeing each other, as I asked her out to see Copland because we were discussing how cool De Niro was in Taxi Driver). I swung by the florist on the way home to grab some roses, my mind racing for a shred of memory detailing confirmation that we had, in fact, planned on not doing anything significant as we would still be finishing our giant move.

Thankfully, the Chief forgot our anniversary also. Crisis averted. We had a good laugh, and we had some Greek for dinner after our phone and cable were connected again. Ben confirmed we were headed to see the Pixies on Saturday, so that would be our little celebration. We returned home and parted ways: I watched the debates as the Chief spoke on the phone with a long-distance friend who rang us up. After the debate, I had a bourbon and cigar outside on my front porch, watching the end of warm weather move through in the form of a storm system/cold snap. One last warm night, I thought, while The Doors played through my head.

I scared the guy walking his dogs late at night. Good, I thought. Last thing I need is to mow through dog crap. More ammo for the “Max is a surly old man” group, I suppose.

We slept soundly together as the storms rolled through, content in the knowledge that we love each other and don’t have to prove it materially.

I would always have to buy flowers though, I thought as I rolled over. I’m not that stupid.

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