Yellow Fever

I awoke at seven to the sound of my sons pounding their way downstairs. I lay in bed and realized I didn't have it this morning. I needed a sick day. I waited for someone to tell me to get the hell out of bed and do my job, but no one came in. I waited for an hour knowing families need breakfast and wives need a morning fire and boys need lunches packed and rides to school. I knew these things. I know these things. But I just didn't have it this morning.

At eight-thirty, twenty minutes before the mad race to school, Joseph slammed the bathroom door which caused the doors at each end of my bedroom to swing open. It was cold out there. Jill walked by one doorway while instructing the boys to pack their bags. I called out to no one, to everyone, "I have yellow fever. I think I have yellow fever." I heard the boys "humph" at the breakfast table. I waited for some kind of concern, some kind of response. Nothing. I yelled, "Heat! I need heat! I have yellow fever." But the word 'heat' sounded more like, "Heeeeeeet. I need heeeeet."

Gracie ran to my bedroom doorway and like a bleating goat cried into the room, "Heeeeet! Heeeet!"

"Gracie," I said slowly. "Tell mom I have yellow fever." Gracie scampered away. I waited. Then Noah walked by and I said, "I won't be here when you return Noah. I have yellow fever."
Noah looked in and while putting on his jacket said, "O.K. Dad. See ya." Like it was no big deal to say goodbye to his dying father. And this cheered me up. I thought, this is how I'd like people to talk to me on my deathbed--breezy, off-the-cuff, "See ya." "Take it easy." "Catch ya latter." No tears and wailing and heavy conversations thick with foreshadowing. How much easier it will be for me to die if folks send me off like I'm taking an afternoon walk. "See ya."

So I got out of bed and put on my jeans and belt and tucked in my t-shirt. I walked into the kitchen and asked Jill, "What are the symptoms of yellow fever?" Jill was busy. She was wrapping sandwiches and the boys were eager for her to finish. "You don't have yellow fever," my son Joseph said as a matter of fact.

"Just tell me the symptoms." I said.

"No." Jill said without looking at me. "I'm not telling you."

"Why?" I asked. "Why won't you tell me. I can handle it. Just tell me."

Noah looked over at me, "Dad. Dad, don't tuck in your shirt. You look ridiculous. Especially with that belt. Dad. Dad, un-tuck your shirt."

"But my stomach is cold." I explained. "I need to keep my shirt tucked-in to keep my stomach warm. I think that's one of the symptoms."

"Dad, you don't have yellow fever." Joseph said with even greater confidence.

I continued to look at my wife. "Just tell me the symptoms Jill. Tell me."

Jill sighed a deep tired sigh. "I'm not going to tell you."

"Why not?" I asked, suddenly worried. "Why won't you tell me?"

Jill stopped her activity, turned and looked at me, which caused the boys to turn and look at me. Jill said calmly, "Tell me your symptoms."

I scanned my body, "My feet are cold.....my back is kind of sore. I feel like, I have that feeling like I need coffee. And....and...I think I'm feeling kind of down, you know...sad."

"O.K." Jill said with some gentleness, "O.K. I know what you have. You're turning forty-three. It's not yellow fever. You're turning forty-three. You need to put on some slippers, make a cup of coffee, and stand next to the stove. That's what you need." The boys stared at me. Jill gave me her maternal look. We all waited for a moment.

"But why won't you tell me the symptoms of yellow fever?" I asked.

Jill turned abruptly, the boys lifted their packs. "Come on Dad. We're late." I put on my jacket and boots and snow hat and drove the kids to school.