Two Simple Words

Chapter 5

"You're home early, Dad!" Alissa had said, seeing her dad walking in through the front door a half hour early, having no idea it would be the last time she would see him do that.

"Yeah, I don't feel so good," he said.

Brenda's eyebrows stood up, "You sick?"

"No, not sick," he said, rubbing at his temples. "I just feel weird."

"How's that something new?" Melissa said, and snickered.

Thomas smiled, but didn't take his usual dive into the open invitation for jovial banter. "My head kinda' hurts, too." His neck felt a little stiff, too, but he didn't think they really wanted a full list of all his aches and pains. He would wait until he was a few decades older to start offering rundowns like that.

All day long he'd been unable to focus, his eyes never losing that feeling they'd just woken up. Then, shortly after lunch he'd gotten a bugger of a headache. Not quite a migraine, he'd had those before, but just this throbbing ache that felt like it was right behind his right eye. His boss had been merciful, at least, and let him go home early. He was sure, driving home, cursing the bright Florida sun and wishing he knew where his sunglasses were, all he really needed was a tall glass of water, some vitamins, and a nice hot shower.

"Have you eaten?" Brenda asked, thinking how pallid his skin looked, it was obvious what his answer would be.

Thomas thought for a second, squinting, "I guess I haven't eaten anything today. Haven't really felt hungry."

Her suspicion confirmed, Brenda got right to work, pulling pans out of cabinets, and started making dinner a little early. "Well, sit down, watch the news, till I can get some food into you. I'm sure you'll feel better after you eat."

He nodded, and headed for the living room and the TV.

After forcing half a plate of food down his throat to satisfy his wife's urgings, he excused himself to head upstairs for a shower. His phone was propped on one of the shelves, play button pressed, reading him the next chapter of, "Misery" by Stephen King.

He thought the ibuprofen he took seemed to be kicking in, and the hot water beating on the back of his neck was helping him relax. He might just lie down on the bed after this shower, he thought, and set about going through his showering routine, setting his wonderings about his body's weird feelings aside. He shampooed twice, careful to massage the top of his head gently, but thoroughly, because an article he'd read in some magazine at the doctor's office one day advised it would help stimulate hair growth, not that his hair was thinning yet. He rinsed and conditioned.

"To shave or not to shave, that is the question," he said, looking at himself in the mirror, suction cupped to the shower wall. His beard didn't grow too fast, thankfully, because his wife did not appreciate touching stubble, even when she was in a really friendly mood. It was the surest of all ways to get her to roll over, and just go to sleep, in a bit of a snoot, if he tried to give her a kiss with stubble on his face. Usually, he could get by shaving every other evening, but he'd shaved yesterday morning, so his schedule was a little off. He ran his hand up and down his jawline, feeling it, and frowned.

He really, really didn't feel like shaving, but figured life was better lived safe than sorry, especially when it came to Brenda, so he reached up for the razor, and then his head started to spin. It was the feeling he'd feel when he was a boy, and would spin around in circles, arms outstretched on both sides like an airplane propeller, until he'd fall down on his rear end laughing. He started to reach out to catch his balance, feeling his fingers hit his phone, when his right foot hit a patch of slimy tile, and flew out from under him, and the lights went off.