- 20 -

Slipping Away: Frank and Mattie

Jane Bowman

 Mattie sits in a rocker knitting while Frank leans back in his old Lazyboy 
recliner and stares through glazed eyes at a 60-inch HDTV standing about five 
feet in front of  them. Now overpowering the small living room in their small bun-
galow, the TV was a gift from the kids.

 Frank sits up to get a closer look at the TV. He looks confused, but then a 
light seems to come on in his eyes.

 “I know how this show ends. That guy there, he gets killed—shot, I think. 
Have we seen this before?’ says Frank.

 “Yes, Frank,” says Mattie. “You know these are summer reruns.” Mattie 
doesn’t lift her head from her knitting.

 “Well, when the he…um heck did that happen?” Frank frowns and slides 
a sly look at his wife of  55 years.

 “Frank, you’re doing better, but that swear jar is going to fill up fast if  you 
keep slipping. It’s May, Frank. The TV season is over sometime in March or early 
April.” Mattie lifts the tiny jacket and counts rows of  knitting. Sure enough, on 
TV, “that guy” gets shot and apparently “bites the dust.” He lies there and doesn’t 
seem to be breathing.

 “Well, I’m going to bed. Are you coming?’ Frank gets up and walks to the 
front door and opens it.

 “Frank, that’s the front door,” says Mattie and points to the stairs.

 “Oh yeah,” chuckles Frank and climbs to the landing. He pauses, looks at 
Mattie, and says, “I’m going to bed. Are you coming?’

  “I’d like to finish this sleeve,” says Mattie as she holds up the small gar-
ment. “It’s for Elyse’s baby.”

 “Who’s Elyse?”

 “She’s Naomi’s daughter, she’s having a baby.”

 “Who’s Naomi?”

 “She’s your sister, Frank?”

 “Naomi’s having a baby?”

 “No, Frank, Naomi’s daughter, Elyse. It’s her first, and she’s not that 
young. I think she may be 42.”

 Frank looks up the stairs. “I’m going to bed. You coming?” 

 “Well, I need to water Snuffy.” She leans down to scratch the head of  
Snuffy, a little Yorkshire Terrier sitting beside her rocker.



- 21 -

 “Damned worthless dog,” grumbles Frank.

 “Frank Johnson, that’s a dollar in the swear jar. And add 50 cents for the 
almost-swear earlier.”

 Frank climbs back down and digs in his pocket for money. “What’s this 
jar for?”

 “We’re supposed to go to Hawaii for our 60th wedding anniversary.” 

 “Gonna need more than this jar of  money.”

 “Well, I have faith in you, Frank. And at least, I’ll get to go.”

 “You’d go without me?”

 Mattie gives him a rueful look over the top of  her glasses.

 Frank strolls to the stairs and looks up them. He seems to be thinking very 
hard, and then says, “I’m going to bed. Are you coming?” He pauses.

 “Your name’s Mattie? What’s that stand for?”

 “It stands for Matilda.”

 “And we’re married? How’d that start?”

 “Well, I’d say in the back seat of  Bill Fuller’s ’49 Mercury.”

 “Old Bill, wonder where he is now?”

 “Believe he’s been gone about 30 years now.”

 “Where’d he go?”

 “Now that’s a good question.”

 “He was a he…heck of  a guy.”

 “Frank, the swear jar! No, that can wait.” Mattie sighs and looks back at 
her knitting.

 Frank stands on the landing looking at his feet. “I’m going to bed. Are 
you coming?”

 Mattie puts down her knitting; turns off the lamp and the TV. The room 
turns inky dark.

 “Turn on the stairs’ light. It’s right behind you.”

 “Where are you?” Frank’s voice is querulous.

 “Right behind you, Frank. Turn on the light.” She hugs Frank and gently 
pushes him up the stairs.

 Snuffy jumps onto the rocker and settles down in Mattie’s warm spot.