He Should Marry the Daughter of the Angel of Death
Nobody knows what goes on inside another being's head. Lovers, and those long-acquainted think they do, simply because those in love possess pheromone-fueled sensory perceptions which are so acute that those involved in the erotic dance will believe anything about their partner, as long as it flatters them. Lifelong friends can almost always predict the actions, and therefore the thoughts of their kindred spirits. However, Mary Frances Cohen had long put her deepest emotions under a rock. Someday a team of scientists might indeed make it possible for us to read each other's minds and feel our emotions, but not on this October day in 2006, the anniversary of the fatal attack on Mary's husband. Mary Frances arose at 3 in the morning, acutely aware of the significance of this day.
25 years. A quarter of a century. So many years gone by since the physical presence of Herbert Ezra Cohen had existed. From the years 1900 to 1925 the flying machine had been invented, the world had fought a war that involved nearly every nation and cast its shadow over almost every human on the planet. In that quarter century came the Black Sox scandal, pogroms in Russia that sent millions fleeing the Czar, and the presidencies of McKinley, Woodrow Wilson, Theodore Roosevelt and Calvin Coolidge, along with the births of Mary and Herbert Cohen.
Yes, a lot of shit happens in 25 years, but on this particular day, Mary Frances remembered vividly what had occurred at just about this time of day on October 4, 1980. The phone call from Hollywood Memorial Hospital.
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