A Bad Day

It had been a bad day for John. It started with a phone call from the library, an e-mail had been received about his wife, attending an international conference on hunger. Her purse had been stolen, she owed a huge hotel bill, and how was she going to get home, and how was he going to scrape together such a large sum and send it off to Nigeria. But the oddest part of all he though that he had breakfast with his wife this morning. Strange! International conference, they gave to the food bank and the mission, but an international conference?

Then there was the second e-mail, the presenter for this evening’s workshop could not fulfill her obligation, an ill child would come first. More drama! Working with library staff, some quick changes and resolutions were found.

The presentation had some problems, somehow John mistook himself for Professor Moore, the mother with the sick child, he was frazzled by the, DRAMA! He failed to point out this. And that as well. The attendees were surely confused?

He noticed that Kevin was there, along with a long suffering woman, that must have been his wife, poor woman. Roberta was there, she had brought along Val. The attendees went into breakout groups. Relief arrived in the form of an open reading session. There was a humorous story of a cat having its first bath. Kevin read his poem recounting an amorous interlude, oh, how he embarrasses his wife. Val told of her experience visiting a Jewish concentration camp.

John looked around the room, he saw Val and Kevin and…what happened to Roberta, she was, or had been with Val. How is Val going to get home if Roberta has left without her? There was next a prologue to a mystery novel concerning a farmer and mysterious green lights, followed by another romantic interlude. But the real mystery, what happened to Roberta?

John had offended several of the writers by skipping over them; the artistic ego is easily bruised. He scanned the table to see if he had missed anyone else. A silent gasp, an intake of breath, mystery solved, Roberta had been sitting next to him
all this time. Without exposing his mental deficiencies he asked Roberta if she had brought something to read. She complied with a piece on memories slipping away. John could only think of his mind slipping away, So much drama. So much frazzle. If only he drank.