Change

Al Gaston's life was so predictable you could set your watch by it. The man never deviated from his routine.

In the morning, he would don the clothes left out for him by his wife. Black jacket, white shirt, black pants and black shoes with a black tie. He would eat the breakfast of oatmeal that she would make and read the newspaper she had fetched.

He would stand at the door and she would hand him his briefcase and a roast beef sandwich for lunch. He would kiss her on the cheek and leave for work.

The evening routine was a beef roast and vegetable dinner. They would watch the same television programs followed by the news.

Predictable and comfortable was Al's motto.

On Friday morning, Al made his way to the table for breakfast. He took one step into the dining room and stopped. Where was his bowl of steaming oatmeal sprinkled with brown sugar and raisins? Where was the tiny pitcher of milk and his coffee? Where were his utensils, lined up perfectly with his napkin?

On the table instead of his breakfast was a stack of paper.

"Dearest Al," read the top page. "I know this will be hard for you, but I'm leaving. No, I've left by the time you read this letter and the divorce papers.

"I need something besides your routine. I'm sorry. Susan"

Al put the letter back upon the stack. He put his hands to his face and cried, for he was clueless as to how he would make it through even the morning. He had no idea of how to make oatmeal.

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Writer's Cramp Prompt 8/29:
Life is always about change, but some (all?) people are resistant to amendments/transformations.

Write a story or poem about CHANGE.