Goines On: Ho, ho, I’m so jolly

By Moristotle

“Ho, ho, I’m so jolly,” Goines recited under his breath. “Ho, ho, I’m so jolly.” He had woken up with some determination he wouldn’t be depressed today. Not on his birthday. “Ho, ho, I’m so jolly.”
    He lay there and listened for his wife’s breathing. He was ready to get up, but he didn’t want to wake her. She deserved her sleep, having to suffer his mood.
    Despite her quickness to anger, he appreciated her basically cheerful disposition.
    He got up and quietly did his morning toilet and got dressed, even though that usually woke her. Today, though, it seemed not to. At least, she wasn’t saying anything if she was awake. Carefully, he lay back down, on top of the covers, and lay there still, on his back. He would do so until she woke up, he thought. But what if he fell asleep? On his back, he would likely snore, and that might wake her.
    He raised his knees to his chest and held his shins for thirty seconds. If he were careful, he could do his stretches without waking her. Left leg for thirty seconds, then the right. Then left leg straight up, foot tightened, hands pulling the back of the knee toward the wall for a good hamstring stretch. Then the right.
    When he got to the open-book stretch, he carefully got up and moved his pillow to the foot of the bed. If he tried to do this one at the top, he would likely disturb her. And he’d have to be careful, anyway, not to touch her feet with a hand or arm. It worked, and she still seemed to be asleep.
    He heard their dog move on his bed along the opposite wall. Carefully, he got up and headed for the kitchen to put out some kibble, and then let Ziggy out to “go.” He decided that when Ziggy came back, he would go with him back to the bedroom, and together they could say good morning to his wife, Ziggy with a tail-wag.
    The first thing she said was, “Happy birthday.” And he said, “It’ll be happy because I’m going to spend it with you.” And he kissed and hugged her. She held onto him tight for a few seconds and kissed him again.
    He stood up, relieved and actually happy. Ho, ho, I’m so happy! he thought.
    She said, “Ziggy! You kissed me too!” And he smiled at this simple, usually daily thing. The simple things, he thought. What’s right here before us.
    It was his sixth birthday, plus some decades. Lately, some days, it felt like nine decades. Except, of course, he didn’t know what 96 felt like, and it was unlikely he ever would, even if his mother had lived to almost 97. And his father was already dead by his age. And he couldn’t remember what his other sixth birthdays felt like – the ones he had actually had. The 66th probably hadn’t felt much different from this. Had he been depressed then? He couldn’t remember.

On his morning walk with Ziggy, he remembered that his wife was going to take him for his birthday to a restaurant they used to like. Imagining doing this that evening didn’t feel like much fun. Had they actually enjoyed going there in times past? He couldn’t very well suggest they not go, or go somewhere else. Where else would be better? Shit, he thought, and said some more ho-hos, out loud now. “Ho, ho, I’m so jolly. Ho, ho, I’m so jolly!” And he actually smiled.
    And he remembered his wife’s good cheer. She would truly enjoy the restaurant, and he owed it to her to enjoy it too. No sitting there in silence, as usually mostly during meals. Talk about something. Think of something truly interesting. Their upcoming vacation? It could be interesting if he really wanted it to be. Look around at other diners, imagine sitting at their table, being them. Were they happy, or were they putting on? Did they even know whether they were happy, or not? Having a cheerful birthday dinner shouldn’t be so hard.
    After he and Ziggy got back home and he had taken care of the kitchen, he looked again at the birthday cards that he had received yesterday. One said – on the printed card – “Those who bring SUNSHINE to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.” Did this niece really think that he brought sunshine into her life? If so, then he sort of owed it to himself to re-read the second half of the statement and keep some of it for himself, didn’t he? He swallowed in what he realized was a gulp.
    Another card said on the front, “Count your blessings,” and inside, in a cousin’s hand, “Hello, I’m alive and happy. How about you?” And he thought about this cousin, and her circumstances, not nearly so comfy as his own. He realized he owed it to her, too, to “be happy.” And he thanked her silently (for now) for the thought.
    I’m almost jolly, Goines thought. I’m saying I am, thinking I am. I’m keeping busy. I’m writing this.

Copyright © 2019 by Moristotle