When I was twenty…
At the butt-crack of dawn, my alarm blared in the distance. Wake up! It’s a beautiful morning! I pulled myself from the dark trenches of sleep, remembering I was going to Arlis today. The little voice inside the clock screamed the words once more, sending a sharp chill through my shoulders. Wake up! It’s a beautiful morning!
I carefully disarmed the little monster. The alarm clock from hell was a gift from Sadie. She said if I smashed it, she would smash me. I chose not to cross those hazel eyes; she was evil these days and might smother me in my sleep.
Check List Item One: You must wake up on time each morning.
Reaching behind my head, I fluffed the pillow and leaned back into the feathery softness. My father was getting married to Caroline today. I was happy for him, but the trip to Arlis was another story, bordering on slasher-film-level. I would rather take on Leatherface, in Texas Chainsaw Massacre, than what I had to face today.
Check List Item Two: You need to think before you react today.
Taking out my yellow journal, I scribbled across the pages and contemplated the start of my morning ritual. A constant routine is everything, said the stupid self-help book. After my birthday, this so-called five-step routine had pulled me up, and then pushed my sorry ass forward when nothing else seemed to matter. The whole concept was ridiculous, but it was at least enough to make me leave the front door and go to class.
I knew this book of annoying crap would never make me truly feel better. Step two suggested setting aside twenty minutes each morning for reflection time as a way to control your thoughts for the day. It recommended that I start at the beginning. I wasn't sure what this stupid book considered the beginning. So on the first day, I scribbled my last tranquil, Norman Rockwell-painted memory.
The words had poured out about a girl who sat laughing in the trees. I wrote about my garden. I wrote about Digger. I wrote about my mother. As the entries progressed, the words had changed to something more cryptic and angry until they turned into pain and remorse. One morning, I wrote I’m sorry until I had blisters.
I looked over this morning’s entry; twenty minutes of damn reflection time complete. Ripping the pages right out of the journal, I stumbled to my bathroom with the writing clenched in my hand. I stared at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the person I saw in the reflection.
Moving on to the next step, I pulled out my hidden book of matches. It was time for my morning routine of pyrotechnics. I touched the glowing stick against the notebook paper. Orange flames ate up the sides as I dropped the journal pages in the metal trash bucket. The fire demolished my transposed feelings into a pile of ash with a devil’s tail of smoke. I pulled in a deep breath, letting it scorch my lungs. I smiled; very therapeutic, just not on the level Sadie intended, or the people in the self-help book.
Check List Item Three: You must take a shower each day.
Turning on the hot water, I crawled inside, begging the spray to melt away the knots of internal pain. The idea that a loss will get easier as time passes, is complete bullshit. It doesn't get easier; you just learn to function while balancing the large burden on your shoulders. I leaned against the wall and eventually sank to the floor. I cried. It was the only time I allowed it to happen these days. For twenty minutes each morning, I let myself crack while alone in the shower. This was my real reflection time.
Check List Item Four: You must wear clean clothes each day.
Turning off the water, I crawled out, feeling no more refreshed than before the hot blast. I tied my hair in a messy wad on top of my head. I grabbed a decent looking t-shirt from a hanger and pulled some faded sweats on my tall frame. The gray fabric had a gaping hole in the knee. I no longer cared if I looked like shit or a runway model; either way this day would have the same outcome.
Check List Item Five: You must eat breakfast each day.
Pulling my suitcase to the living room, I smelled a dark, sweet aroma coming from the kitchen. At least something seemed bright this morning; Sadie had already made coffee. I wished for deep, mind-blowing sludge, knowing I would get a hit of watered-down caffeine from the natural energizer bunny.
“Hey,” I said, pouring a cup. I took a sniff and grumbled, “Decaf again?”
“Stop being temperamental. I know you can’t taste the difference, let alone smell it.” She flashed an annoyed look over her shoulder while prepping a travel mug. “You don’t need to be wired today.”
“It’s just the principle. It’s like drinking O’Doul’s. What’s the point?” I took a swig straight black, feeling the hot liquid slide down my throat with a slight burn.
“Well, you are most certainly not having that either.”
She would never let it go even though I had been sober since my birthday. Sadie should have left me. I wasn’t a good friend or roommate to her. She should have thrown my shit on the curb. I deserved it, yet she didn’t leave or kick me out.
I watched Sadie take another sip of coffee. She looked up, allowing her eyes to flicker over my attire. I saw every bad thought floating around in her head. As usual, Sadie looked beautiful today, wearing what I called The Power Suite: a dark black pencil skirt and jacket complimented with a starched white shirt and tiny pink scarf tied in knot around her throat. Her hair was swept in a formal twist, giving the pearl earrings perfect exposure.
“Is that what you’re wearing today?” she asked with pursed lips.
“It doesn’t matter what I wear.”
“It matters, sweetie.” She sat her cup down, I assumed to offer a lecture. “It will be fine. It’s just a car ride followed by a beautiful wedding. Try to say that to yourself over and over again. It will be ok.”
I bit down on my lip and swallowed hard. “It will be ok. It’s not like he will hurt me. The whole thing will just be uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry I can’t take you.”
“It’s not your problem.”
“You are my friend.” She came over to give a quick hug. “Call if you need to discuss anything. I’m here for you even if I can’t physically come to the wedding.”
“Thank you.”
“Bye, sweetie.”
Her heels clicked down the apartment steps. I heard a pause, followed by a quick march back to the door. Sadie made a beeline to the kitchen and opened the dishwasher. She took the coffee spoon out and reversed it to be silver scoop side up in the tray.
“Much better. It would have bothered me all the way to San Antonio thinking about that dirty spoon just sitting in the tray wrong.”
“You’re so weird.”
“Says the person wearing ripped pajamas as an outfit.”
“Whatever.”
“Bye, sweetie.”
“Hey…um, good luck with the debate.”
“You too.”
The door shut again, leaving me alone with my pathetic thoughts. Chigger was dead. Jess was driving me to the wedding because Sadie had a debate competition in San Antonio. I had called my father yesterday, with selfish hopes he would suggest coming to get me. After all, Caroline and I had a mega list of items to complete before the ceremony. She needed me, I stressed to him.
He said it wasn’t necessary to come early and wanted me to get a ride from Jess the following day. I didn’t say a word. My father had known for a while something was wrong between us. He had fished around a few times but I never said anything. I would never be able to explain why Jess was absent from my life without revealing the truth. So I finally agreed to contact him for a ride.
I knew Jess would never miss Henry and Caroline’s wedding. Yet, his attendance never felt real until that very moment. Clutching the tiny black phone, I had stared at the text message for at least thirty minutes before hitting send.