For the last couple years, I’ve comforted myself by saying I’m in my
“early 70s,” but math is simple and unforgiving. Today is my 75th
birthday, and God, the years do fly.
I’m not here for your well wishes; this is hardly a milestone I’m
excited about. I’m glad to still be here, of course, but I find I have
less and less to live for with every passing year. My bones ache, my
kids live far away, and the other side of my bed has been empty for just
over eight months now. In fact, once I cast my vote against that
goddamned Trump this November, I may have nothing to live for at all.
“You’ll do great.” Annabeth hugged her. Funny, she seemed to get along fine with Rachel these days.
Rachel bit her lip. “I hope you’re right. I’m a little worried. What if somebody asks what’s on the next
math test and I start spouting a prophecy in the middle of geometry class? The Pythagorean theorem shall
be problem two… . Gods, that would be embarrassing.“
Annabeth laughed, and to my relief, it made Rachel smile.