Joshua opened his eyes slowly. Two Mexican rag dolls known as Marias sat on the white desk across from the twin bed he lay in. They both gave him empty, unblinking stares. Where am I? Everything began to flood into his mind. Richard was dead, and he was asleep in Maria’s room in the family’s house. Joshua slowly sat up and got his bearings. Looking over at the clock, he saw that the time was 6:45 a.m. The morning light was just beginning to invade the bedroom. He stood up and went over to his suitcase at the end of the bed to pick out some clothes. Quietly, he traveled down the hall to the bathroom. Joshua stood in front of the bathroom mirror.
Joshua looked into the mirror and spoke to himself, “Have I really aged this much in fifty-eight years?”
His thick locks that had once been jet black were now mostly gray. Deep wrinkles had formed between his dark brown eyes from hours of thinking. Although weighing 210 pounds was not huge for a man six feet tall, he recalled a time when he was twenty pounds lighter. He sighed and finished his morning routine. It seemed so meaningless. What could he do with his day? Still, he had to hide his personal pain for the sake of Harold and Barbara. He may not be much of a psychiatrist, but he could still be a supportive friend. Joshua headed to the kitchen to make coffee.
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