Saturday

The air blew through the window cold and crisp as I wiggled further beneath the blanket. I reached across and groped for the pillow and felt her hair on it. I started awake, wondering where I was, who this was. Soon enough it came back to me. Sitting up, I thought that this wasn’t normal, not how it should be, not how it was. Her shape was outlined, warm, next to me. She was sleeping soundly again. Good. I rolled over and opened the blinds and lit a cigarette, feeling the morning’s breeze blowing across my face. As I lay there, focusing on breathing in and out, exhaling the smoke, inhaling the birth of another day, I wondered why she came, why she stayed. She knew me, had for a long time. Too well, I’m sure, but she stayed despite that. Or maybe because of it.

I eased out of the bed and padded across the cold floor to the kitchen for some coffee. Lighting another cigarette and pouring my coffee, I looked back in at what was once a goal, a dream, a plan. I turned around then and looked around the kitchen, the table scattered in papers and books and notebooks of wild scrawling, empty beer cans and full ashtrays stacked in the corner. They seemed to know me too. Or at least know how to call my name and get my attention. Last night’s notes were still lying folded on the table, the napkin crumpled but strong. I don’t know if she read these things when I was in the bathroom or already asleep or not. I don’t know that it would’ve mattered anyway. The vacuum that is my mind kept me insulated from such trivial things.

Was this going somewhere? Had it already been? Is it just something that was/is and nothing more and nothing less? Did it really matter anyway? It was too early in the morning for my mind to be racing like this. I poured another coffee and looked out the window at the yard where a few birds were poking around in the heavy dew. Early birds, indeed. The smell from the coffee pot was warm and welcoming and comfortable. I’m surprised she wasn’t awake yet. Logically thinking, I should wake her up and get her out the door. Logically thinking never has been my specialty. Rather, I got a skillet out and fried some sausage for gravy. A journey of a million miles at least warrants a good breakfast.

* all characters in the above story are fictional....noone wants to sleep in my bed and I don't have any sausage to cook.