Broken Door Handles, Flat Tires, and Other Disasters

He worried the handle. No use. Broken again. Now, he would have to take the truck to work, or maybe his son's car. That would set off a ripple of hardships: no workout or steam after the cupping at the new coffee place. And his wife would miss yoga. She would not let him forget that for a while. Ding dang door. At least the electric window worked, so he could roll it down and open the door from the outside. Stepping out, he saw that the rear tire had gone flat. Have to call the tire warehouse and get that replaced. He still had the receipts. They were nearly new, weren't they. Oh, yeah, and the check engine light came on last night. Now he was really in it. What next? Then there was the charity group meeting and dinner for Fred. Man, this was turning into quite the day. If only people didn't want so much of him. The house, the car, the summer place, the retirement plan -- all of it was getting to him. Keys to the son's car. Leave him a note. Socks don't match. Pants have a shiny spot. What about those circles he sees every morning in the mirror? Have to do something about that. The boss said something about my "getting on" the other day. What did that mean? Cut back on the health insurance now that the boys are almost out of college. He hoped it wouldn't rain. That would change the weekend yard plans. He took his Xanax. The grill needed propane too. And the dog had torn the screen in the porch door. Would the tire place charge for a new tire? And what about the door? He'd have to call about that. Maybe he could do that at the office. If he ever got there. Going to be late now. No time for coffee, or even toast. Too cold for tennis. Would she love him if he lost the job? Where had he gone wrong? What happened to the boy who dreamed as a red sun rose over the cat tails on an October morning, first frost on the stems of dying grasses?