The Game Ended Late

 Copyright 2014 Matt Cairone

All Rights Reserved

The game ended late, past his bedtime, reminding him that the more tired you are the harder it is to fall asleep.

He started with the thoughts; his mind went a mile a minute.

He drafted things in his head: the notice of the special board meeting, the agenda, and the materials for the directors. Then he revised and revised and revised, until he etched final drafts onto his brain.

The final drafts ease the pressure in his head. He relaxes his fists.

He tosses. He turns. He shakes his hands to rid them of the tingle. He sighs, and one of the dogs stirs.

The wind howls and his house talks back. Light fixtures creak on the deck. He hears one spin on its axis, and a bulb breaks.

His knees hurt. There is a ring of pain from the back to front. He feels like they are swollen. It always feels like they are swollen, he allows himself to think. He feels the fullness in his belly, even though he hasn't eaten.

There are bigger problems than his. There are wars; there are inexplicable violent acts; there are others sicker, weaker, and without medical care. So he stops the bellyaching and he stops the whining and he stops the self-pity. It’s hard to stop. Soon, he is right back at it.