Day Off

after Calvino

There was a woman who never worked a Friday.

Now, her husband had never known about her work schedule. They woke up together Friday morning after their first date, and he left quickly so she could get ready for work. She never corrected him. The woman bused down to the piers every Friday. She went without itinerary, open to what activity came rolling in with the tide. She'd been on boats, even out into the bay. She befriended the boardwalk policeman--they cut conversation together from the blank morning hours. His death removed him from their meetings before retirement could, and in the nature of things, she found fresh company with the river tour boat captain, with the shifting guard of birds and fitness walkers.

And since she always came home in the early evening, and counted their Fridays away against her vacation, her husband never asked her where she had been. Years passed. Her husband stopped working when his back started to go. One day her company moved to the next city. Her job left her.

She went home, told her husband how she was suddenly retired.

"You can finally get your rest." he said. "I'll make us breakfast."

But in the morning she was on the bus before he awoke.

That night at dinner, her husband asked "Where did you go?"

She'd gone down to the piers, talked with Gary. He was taring pilons.

Her husband reminded her that she was retired now, that she should relax in the mornings and work at the crossword with him. But the next morning, she went right back to the piers.

Seeing how she was stuck in her habits, her husband surprised her; he waited for her at the boardwalk the next morning, holding out a paper cup of coffee.

"You've retired. This is the time that belongs to us." he said.

So she left him, and kept right on making trip down to the water.