John Smith awoke to the gentle grey light filtering through the curtains of his small London flat.
Truth be told, the day had already started off quite well. When you reach the grand age of one hundred and eighteen, just waking up counts as a victory.
His morning ritual began with a thorough check-up: he pried open his left eyeno trouble therethen the right, which was a bit clouded. A quick rinse, a few eye drops, and he felt good as new.
He flexed every joint that would bend, oiled the ones that wouldnt. He checked his posture, gave his neck a cautious twist, hearing the satisfying crackles. Satisfied everything still worked, John tapped his foot twice, clapped his hands three times, and faced the new day with a crooked grin.
At eight on the dot, his phone rang as per tradition. It was the Pensions Office.
Hello, Liza, darling, John croaked cheerfully to his caseworker.
And a good morning to you, Mr Smith, Liza replied, sounding more weary than hed hoped. How are you feeling?
Cant complain, grinned the old man into the receiver.
Thats rather unfortunate, John. Ive gotten my fifth reprimand this year because of you! Today marks thirty years since you stopped your private pension and switched to a state one!
Oh, forgive me. I heard theyre upping payments this month?
Yes about that Lizas voice became as morose as a rainy November afternoon. You wouldnt happen to be working a side job, would you? she tried, a touch of hope in her tone.
No, sorry, I manage just fine with what I get.
A shame Well, all the best she never finished, the line went dead.
By nine, John sat at the kitchen table with his great-great-grandson, who didnt live with him but always let himself in with his own key. Without fail, the lad would measure somethingtoday it might be the kitchen, tomorrow the bathroom. Then hed sit down, jot some figures, sketch out options for cabinets and tiling.
Today, though, hed forgotten his tape measure.
Take your granddads, its on the sideboard, John offered, chuckling softly as he filled the teapot. Its been there since your grandfathers days.
The younger man only sighed deeply and sat down to eat the legendary Smith family scrambled eggs.
By ten, John had slipped outside for a smoke.
Oy, Johnny, at it again! came the hoarse call from his neighbour. You do realise that smoking causes He trailed off, eyeing John, who had started smoking at the age most die from what causes.
Were off to London today, the neighbour added.
What for?
Were going to ride the Tube, pop by Trafalgar Square, and see the old Tower before they close it for renovations.
Not much to see, is there? A towers a tower.
You been, then?
Yeah, even met the Queen once, back when she came to the village.
In her coffin?!
No, in a carriage.
Hang about, how old are you now, anyway?
Eighteen, just turned, John muttered, puffing his cigarette.
Get out of here.
Honestly. They let me do a second round, see.
Well, happy adulthood, then!
Cheers, John returned home with a lopsided smile.
At eleven, he got a call from the manager at British Telecom. The poor fellow nearly begged him to change his phone planJohns was so ancient, kept only for his sake, that in todays pounds it was worth nothing, in fact, the company owed him a few quid.
At five, John made his way to the supermarket. On your birthday, they offered a discount equal to your agehe grabbed a cake, a kilo of bananas, and a wide-screen telly. With the change, he hailed a cab and hired a couple of movers.
By seven, the coroners office rang, reminding him, rather testily, to finally collect his insurance policy and slippers.
At eight, friends and family arrived. John set the table, switched on his new telly, poured the wine.
Toasts were sparseno one quite knew what to wish for, so the guests simply stood, each taking their turn.
By ten, the police showed up, politely requesting the revelry ease down, as elderly folks next door struggled to sleep. John himself opened the door, prompting the officers into baffled silence as they took in the still-celebrating centenarian.
He finally slipped into bed near midnight, after most guests had left for their own homes or the hospital. Smiling into the darkness, John removed from his finger a magical gold ring, tucking it gently beneath his pillow. On the inside, in tiny letters, it bore the inscription commissioned by his late wife: Live for us both.
And so he did.
