Olga Lives Every Day Like It’s Her Last

“Hello, Mom?” Olga says tearfully.
“Hi Olga.”
“Mom, I don’t have much time, so I’m just going to come out and say it. I only have a day to live.”
“Oh Olga, it’s been six months, Honey. Aren’t you done trying to live every day like it’s your last?”
“Mom, when are you going to come to California? I can’t go all over the country in one day visiting relatives.”
“(Sigh.)”
“Well,” Olga says, “if you can’t come, I’m going to go to the beach. I just want one last glimpse of that beauty. I’m not even going to waste time calling in sick.”
“Olga, your boss replaced you months ago.”
“That reminds me. Mom, could you transfer a little money to get me through the day?”
“I would, but I’m running out of money, dear. I had to pay your rent when you forgot last month. Sweetheart you really can’t live every day exactly like it’s your last. The first time you did, I almost had a stroke! And I put a prayer request on Facebook and then I had to tell all my friends it wasn’t true after all.”
“Sorry mom. Well, I’m going to hit the beach now.”
“Olga, when’s the last time you cleaned your bathroom?”
“Mom, when you’re living every day like it’s your last, you don’t bother with the toilets.”
“(Sigh) bye Sweetheart.”
“Bye Mom.”
Olga drives through town, sorry she doesn’t have a thousand dollars to give to a homeless man on the corner like she did on her first last day. She unbuttons her jeans, six months of chocolate eclairs pushing uncomfortably on her waistband. In her first month of last days, she apologized to everyone she’d ever slighted, down to grade school broken crayons, so she is free. She drives through the outskirts of the county and can almost smell the salty sea air when her car runs out of gas. When it’s your last day, you don’t bother with the gas station.

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