Alborada
There was music when I woke up. Mendelssohn's first string quintet. I love the work, and it sounded fine for a while. Then I began to wonder. Wasn't it a little loud? And when did I slip it into the tray to play? Who, for the matter of that, turned on the music at dawn? And how could I do this to Kathleen, who'd worked so late into the night?
Kathleen had worked so late into the night that she still hadn't come home. It was when I came back from the bathroom that I realized this. Somewhat unmoored, I picked up the phone. She answered, at the office. It was not quite seven in the morning. Go back to bed, she said.
I went to the front door to pick up the Times. By extraordinary chance the deliveryman was walking by, and he handed me the paper. Yay for my knees.
It would appear that I fell asleep to music, and that the machine just worked its way through the discs.
