I'll Get There. It Better Be Worth the Trip. by John Donovan

Then I open the door, and Fred jumps on my legs. It gives him a few seconds to decide who’s going to be coming through the door. I wait just a minute before I open the door because I think Fred gets a lot of pleasure from sniffing like that. He stops barking right away, and I can hear him near the door, sniffing away. As soon as I put in the key, old Fred lets out a howl from the inside, and I yell, It’s OK, Fred. Everyone looks at me, and I realize I am supposed to open the door. The driver is all smiles and has I’ll-be-seeing-you-in-rosiercircumstances looks, so I don’t even say good-bye to him. I doubt it.Įveryone files out of the car and onto the front porch. He must have called me sir about twenty times so far this morning. This guy working for the funeral home takes the prize though. I thought it was pretty phony then, and I still do. Twice before, once at a fancy restaurant and once when I opened a savings account in a bank, guys had called me sir. I sort of smile at him as though I am thanking him. The driver folds the seat in half a second. Not that I ordinarily care about haircuts, but for the limousine driver at my grandmother’s funeral, I thought they could at least have given us a guy who had had his hair cut. He pounces out of the car and puts his hand on the door I opened. I’ll take care of that, sir, the driver says. I am in the jump seat by the door closest to the sidewalk, so I open the door and fumble with the seat I was sitting on. The limousine drives up in front of the house.

I'll Get There. It Better Be Worth the Trip. by John Donovan