John M. Floyd
“Something’s going to happen,” Mary said, as she clipped on an earring. “Something big. I can feel it.”
Her husband glanced at her from the mirror he was using to tie his tie. “I can too,” he
said. “I think the stew was too spicy.”
“No, I’m serious.” She paused. “Maybe it’s the show tonight. I’ve heard that a fine drama, well written and well presented, can actually change a person’s life.” She turned and regarded him for a moment. “What do you think?”
“I think my life’s fine the way it is,” he said, still struggling with his tie. “Why don’t you just go without me this time?”
“So you can go to your silly Men’s Club meeting?” She turned back to her own mirror, attached the other earring, tilted her head, and studied the result. “All you boys do over there, I imagine, is talk about sports and the army and wild women, and you’re too old for all three.”
“Oh I am, am I?” He gave his knot a final tug and stood up to smooth his coat. In her mirror, Mary watched him with quiet approval; the fact that he was so tall was only one of the reasons she’d been attracted to him, all those years ago.
“The point is, you should get more in touch with reality,” she said.
“And I suppose a stage play is reality?”
She rose to her feet, found her coat and gloves, and marched to the door. “One night of culture won’t kill you, my dear. Now hurry up, everyone’s waiting for us.”
“All right, all right.” He picked up a woolen scarf and patted the pocket that held his wallet. “Where is this life-changing event, by the way?”
“Ford’s Theatre,” Mrs. Lincoln said. “And don’t forget your hat.”