by Janet Levinson

Bending over, she scrapes the Dustbuster across the ceramic tile, making sure every minute cake crumb is caught. She stands up, straightening her tiny frame, and gently cleans his lap, the napkin bib, and his face. Everything must be perfect in this pastel-colored space where heat and humidity reign inside and out. It makes her feel content in a world that is now upside down. It gives her comfort—the comfort of a routine well known.

     He is motionless, complacent; his face stares blankly. What is he thinking as she moves around him, the circles of cleaning expanding ever outward? Is this really the same man she married? 

     Only a few months earlier she remembers him laughing at her annoying habits and telling her to stop fussing. After sixty-six years together, she knew he loved her. She had a good heart.

     He makes a noise. She runs back to check—did she miss a crumb? She leans over, face-to-face, to get a closer look. He moves and his lips curve ever-so-slightly upward, forming a crooked smile as he grabs her breast. She smiles back, kissing him on the soft fluff of white cotton that covers his head. He is still in there.

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Janet Levinson is a senior at NYU School of Professional Studies majoring in Art History. Born and raised in New York, she built her own insurance brokerage business while raising her three children. Upon their graduation from college, Janet decided it was time to pursue her own degree, hoping her studies at NYU would lead to her next career in the art or literary world. In addition to managing her insurance business and coursework, Janet carves out time to pursue her other interests which include re- designing neglected residential real estate, painting, dancing and cooking for her husband and children.