RONNIE

Unable to settle her coffee’s hazelnut to rum ratio, Ronnie pours a third finger, but still doesn’t like the taste. In her ratty robe, she sits, sighs, wait for it to cool then drink it down quickly.

Time comes she should head out for the hospital, but she doesn’t budge.

She’s been listening to Dawn and Judy since that one semester of college, what, Jesus, almost 25 years ago. Two girls only her own age had commandeered their own radio show. Ronnie always suspected one of them must’ve been somebody’s daughter. Driving across town those mornings, fall turning into mild winter, roads and lawns all the continuous pale gray and yellow of dirty teeth. Everything dead, but the snow never showed up to bury anything.

Before that one semester, she would’ve already dropped Kenny off at Nana’s and been at work by the time Dawn and Judy came on. But in school, able to leave a little later, just after rush hour, she sat with their laughs every morning. Still can’t tell whose laugh is whose. Usually can’t tell what they laugh about, doesn’t matter. One hardly gasps a word or two between sobs of laughter to get the other one going again. This morning at her table, with her coffee, in her robe, still, Dawn and Judy cackle.

Ronnie observes herself with curiosity, but without emotional investment one way or another, like a scientist, hmm, isn’t this interesting, this day she has decided to not move. The her-that-watches-her-sit begins rooting for the sitting-her, go on – get up girl! Get on with it, the day awaits- but nothing. She doesn’t know why this day, could be any.