Countdown To Tomorrow

Countdown to Tomorrow—George Davis

  “Pass me the potato chips and dip, Ethel,” Tom Mayfield said to his wife. “The ball’s gonna drop in a couple of hours.”

  “You are so lazy, Tom. The chips and dip are right in front of you.”

  “I can’t reach them.”

  “All you have to do is bend forward, stretch out your hand and voilà, you’ve got your treat.”

  “Can’t you do something to help me once in a while, Ethel?”

  “If washing your clothes, cleaning up after your meals, scrubbing the floors on my hands and knees aren’t enough. I suggest you hire a maid.”

  “Don’t be funny. I appreciate all you do around here. But, it seems to me, you could pay more attention to my immediate needs.”

  You mean, fetch your slippers and pipe, cuddle up to you more? Why don’t you get yourself a dog. They are, after all, a man’s best friend.”

  At eleven-fifteen Tom’s eyes began to droop, he fought sleep. He wanted to see in the new year. He had planned this night for two weeks. He bought potato chips, onion dip, cold Pepsi, Little Debbie’s chocolate cakes, and a bottle of sparkling apple cider.

  “Are you going to sleep, Tom? The ball is about to drop.

  Tom was gone, he’d fallen asleep.

  “Tom, get up, time for school.”

  “Okay, Ma, I’m up.”

  “I mean, put your big feet on the floor.”

  “Okay, Ma.” 

  “If I come up there, I’ll get you up, and you know what that means.” He knew, she pulled him out of bed onto the floor and threw a cold glass of water in his face. The cold water stung as it cascaded down his hot, sensitive skin waking every nerve in his frail body.

  “Okay students, it is time for your math quiz, the one I promised you Friday.” Miss Staples passed out the white lined paper. The white paper signified the answers were to be written in ink. When the paper was yellow, one could use a pencil. The white quizzes counted more than the yellow.

  Tom raised his hand.

  “Yes, Thomas, what is it?”

  “I have to go to the bathroom, Miss Staples.”

  “Why is it every time we have a quiz, you have to go to the bathroom. Do you really have to go, or are you trying to skip taking this test?” A little of both. I didn’t study for the test. I was too busy taking my new sled over to Little Reindeer for a test run. 

  “I can’t help it, Miss Staples if I have to go. I gotta go real bad.”

  “Okay, go, but come right back. You will finish this test if you have to stay here until midnight. Is that clear, Thomas?”

  “Yes, Miss Staples,” You old battle-ax.

  “Okay, students, I have the results of your test,” Miss Staples said, passing out the papers.

  When she came to Tom, she said, “I don’t know what you did, Thomas, but you passed the test; not by a great margin; a C. But at least you passed.” Thank you, Attila.

  “Stop it, Tom Mayfield,” Ethel Waterman said. “You’re hurting me.”

  “How am I hurting you? I’m only pulling your pigtails. Are you a sissy or something?”

  “Stop it right now or I’ll tell, Miss Staples.”

  “Go ahead, I ain’t afraid of her.”

  “It’s I am not afraid of her,” Ethel said.

  “You’re always correctin’ my English. I don’t like that.”

  “Then start using proper English.”

  “Maybe I don’t wanna. Maybe I got better things to do than talk all those high fallutin’ words of yours.”

  Tom and Ethel, in their senior year of high school started dating.

  “I love you, Ethel. You’re so pretty.”

  “I love you too, even though you are a little rough around the edges.” She laughed.

  “I hope that you’ll be able to help me with my English, Ethel. I know my English ain’t very good.”

  “Isn’t very good.”

  “Isn’t very good,” Tom repeated.

  After five years of marriage, Tom and Ethel were, miraculously still together.

  Tom had become so lazy and inconsiderate. His hygiene had taken a nose dive. He only bathed on Saturday night, and then only if he was going somewhere, like a sports event.

  “Tom, you need to take a bath. You’re beginning to stink.”

  “It ain’t Saturday yet.”

  “It isn’t Saturday yet.” “That’s what I just said.”

  “No it isn’t, you said, ain’t. Ain’t is an unacceptable English word.”

  “It’s in the dictionary, ain’t it?”

  Tom Mayfield, you are impossible.”

 Monday morning at the Bickford Paper Company Tom punched in, his usual ten minutes late.

  “Hey, Mayfield, you’re late, again.” It was his foreman.

  “I overslept.”

  “Well, if you oversleep one more time, I’m gonna write you up and you will be disciplined.”

  “Yeah, okay Boss, got ya.”

  “What are you doing home so early,” Ethel asked.

  “Those neanderthals fired me. After all the years I busted my back for them.”

  “You’ve only been at the mill for two years, Tom. And didn’t your boss warn you about being late numerous times?”

  “Yeah, but it ain’t like I was late every day.”

  “Isn’t like.”

  “Okay, isn’t like.”

  “Your work record is atrocious. The last four jobs you’ve had since we got married, have all ended in your being fired. It is a good thing I went to work for Doctor Miller. At least we’ve got a steady income. But even so, it isn’t enough so that we can save any money.”

  “I’m gonna protest my firin’ at the mill. I was a good worker.”

  “Didn’t you tell me, yes brag about you’re sleeping on the job. Hiding from your supervisor?”

  “Well, the few times I did fall asleep, it was because you kept me up at night. I’m a mornin’ person.”

  “You’re a noon time person, you mean. On the weekends, instead of mowing the lawn or cleaning the leaves out of the gutters. You are sleeping in your hammock out back.”

  “Since when’s it been a crime for a workin’ man to relax on his time off from work? I bring home the bacon, don’t I?”

  “More like the drippings. You haven’t worked a full week in six months.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m not a well person, can I?”

  “But it’s okay for me to go to work when I’m sick? Last week I could hardly move, my chest was full, and I coughed all night, ran a high fever, and went through a box of tissues. But still went to work every day.”

  “Women don’t work as hard as men do. ‘Sides, we can’t both afford to lose work—in the same week I mean.”

  “Tom Mayfield, you are impossible.”

  “Wake up, Tom the countdown has started.”

  “Eh—er—huh?”

  “10-9-8-7-6-5—Tom, wake up.” Ethel shook her husband and continued, 4-3-2.

  “I’m awake. 1.