A Happy Ending?

Breakfast of Champions (Zack)

Two days earlier

       Monday mornings have so much potential. They're like the breakfasts of the calendar; the most important days of the weeks. And just like breakfast, Monday can determine the whole of the rest of the week (or day) depending on how it turns out for you. Monday is important.

       Today, for instance, I had planned something special for myself. A spinach omelette paired with a small fruit salad and a glass of orange juice. I seriously thought about topping off my glass with a little champagne, I was that excited. But there was no way I was gonna chance a jinxing. Besides, this level of fancy already beats the regular toast on the way out the door.

       Because this Monday is not just any kind of Monday, my friend. Oh no. It just so happens that today has an especially high chance of determining not only the rest of the week, or even the rest of the year, but the rest of my life. Today is the ultimate Monday, and I refuse to let anything about it go anything less than smoothly.

       I'd gotten up at 5 am this morning so that I had time to shower before my mom got up, then put on the "dress" that would (hopefully) impress, relish in the ultimate Breakfast of Breakfasts for the Mondayest of Mondays, and make it out the door by 7:15 to get on the 7:30 bus to catch the 8:15 that will take me to the gateway of my dreams.

       Figuring out my hair, I thought, would be the hard part. Then I found a hole in my jacket. It took about an hour to get the stitch right and another half to actually find my mom's sewing kit. It's a good thing that I took that time last night to shine my shoes, or I would have been late for breakfast. But I think it was all worth it.

       Although, by the time I and my breakfast were ready for Monday, it was already 7:00 o'clock. Which meant a fifteen minute scarf down if I want to catch my bus. Which is disappointing, because an omelette so perfect really deserves a proper savoring.

      As I'm relishing in the much too temporary aesthetic of my special breakfast, my mom walks into the kitchen, dressed and prepped for the day.

       "Oh! Honey, you made breakfast?" I open my mouth to argue, but then she kisses my cheek and I can smell the booze. She says "That is just so sweet. I had a rough night." So I just let her have it.

       "Sure, Mom." Maybe I'll just pick something up from the Kwik Mart across from the bus transit. Maybe this is the universe telling me that this breakfast is just not fit for the occasion.

       Mom purses her red lips around her coffee cup and sips while she looks me up and down. "What's this?" She motions to my pressed pants and tie.

       "Um, well. I just... I just felt like, you know. Changing it up. A little. Hm. Yeah... heh. Oh geez, is it 8 o'clock already?! Wow, um, I've gotta go, Mom, because, um, I'm gonna miss the bus."

       "So... I will see you at dinner?" She tries. My chest tightens, though. I mumble something that sounds like a response before quickly stuffing a piece of fruit in my mouth. I peck her cheek, swoop my jacket and backpack off of the dining room chair and trail out the front door. Right before it shuts, I pretend like I don't hear my mom shout "But it's only 7:05!"

*****

       The second bus I get on is quiet. There are only a handful of people, and none of them are in a very chatty mood. So I'm sitting, staring out the bus window, trying not to think about things. Like mondays. Or breakfast. Or my whole morning plan going awry.

       It wasn't my mom's fault, I knew that. So why was I angry at her?

       Repressed rage mixed with nervous anxiety and that funny tasting gas station burrito makes for an uncomfortable nausea in the pit of my stomach. I can feel myself breaking out in a sweat and my heart rate won't calm down. This morning is beginning to feel like it's doomed to fail.