Susan Senator

It was after 9:30 p.m. I was finished dancing and about to shower, when I realized that Nat was pacing a lot downstairs. This is often his reminder of some aspect of the nighttime ritual that has not yet occurred. I rushed over to the little kitchen, which houses all the food and storage stuff for the kitchen. I pulled down the pillbox, assuming this was next.

There were no Thursday night pills. Pill-cutting is an arduous weekly task around here, and because of all the little pills and the differences in dosages and times of day, it is easy to forget a time slot. I assumed I had forgotten Thursday night, and I muttered this with Nat looking, interested, over my shoulder, while delving into the Friday night pills to pilfer from there. I poured the orange and white tidbits into my hand, but Nat did not get his glass of water.

“You already had your pills!” he shouted.
“What? Oh,” I said, and poured the pills back into Friday, yelling, “Hey, Ned! You already gave him the pills, and didn’t say anything!! I almost gave him another bunch!!” What, was he so involved with his computer? I was poised and ready for a little fight over this.
“But Nat told you,” Ned said calmly.
Nat told me. I was shaking as I considered this, three little words that change everything.