The morning awakened a morbid sense into the air. Familiar to the previous night’s but felt tighter, like a chain wrapped around my chest. I yawned and straightened myself up into a sitting position on the couch. I was starting to be quite comfortable with this feeling.
A faint darkness filled the room, with the lovely rays of light timidly crawling into place. Remains of a dream lingered in my brain, but I couldn’t sort them out. It piqued me that much of it was forgotten, even though heavy assessment wouldn’t be necessary.
I felt worn out from the constant sleep. It clung to me and dragged me deeper into lethargy. My stomach gurgled in an uncontrollable, demanding manner, and I crawled off the couch to pad into the kitchen for some breakfast.
There wasn’t any bread in the breadbox and no milk in the fridge either- only a box of stale cereal which was high in fibre, but low in ratings for taste. I supposed that there wasn’t much time for Sherry to go grocery shopping. I decided not to linger on the thought any longer, and launched the hunt for a clean bowl.
The only program worth watching on the TV that morning was the news. It kept my mind busy. The reporters all seemed so professional, and so serious, even when they were talking about absolutely nothing. That really bothered me. There were actual worldwide issues occurring. Yet they insisted on reporting the details of a celebrity’s life.
I sighed as I popped another bit of cereal in my mouth and crunched on the hard blandness with my teeth.
They began to show the horrible catastrophes that were occurring in the local citizen’s lives. You will see small reports such as these many times in your life, but will never truly understand the impact it has. Countless robberies, deaths and incidents have been inflicted on real people out there. It’s so distant to feel their level devastation and concern.
This morning, some people were discussing a house fire which occurred the other night. As scary as people think that would be they never expect to actually experience it. People just naturally think that they are invincible, or immune to such occurrences.
Realising this, I felt hot tears springing in my eyes, which blurred my vision. I clicked off the television.
I sunk into the soft world of the blankets once again. I let myself be possessed by awful sobs. It was all too much to contain.
My mother was dead.
I understood that this information was true; although it definitely didn’t feel like it was.
I continued to expect myself to go home and to find her asleep and in her own little world, but that was now impossible.
Nothing really mattered any more.
I was afraid to wonder where she was just then. Was she with me as a spirit or ghost, haunting that very room? Standing right in front of me? Watching me angrily question the life around me? Who was I to question what was set in stone anyways? I pushed those thoughts from my mind, and squirmed around a bit to find a more comfortable position.
I heard the bowl I had sitting in my lap crash on the floor. I didn’t bother leaping up to pick up the pieces of cereal scattered on the floor. I began to slowly close my eyes again to the comforting state of unconsciousness. No wonder why my mother escaped here so often. There isn’t any confusion or pain in the depths of sleep- only what is and what isn’t.
***
He woke up to the sound of his demanding alarm clock ringing into the morning and rolled over to the other side of the bed. Mentally pleaded with it to shut up. It was set to obnoxiously ring every minute, blistering noise irritated his ears.
Realising that the extra minute wasn’t worth it; he sat up and rubbed his worn-out eyes. They were like dry, painful balls of dust tired in their sockets.
The alarm clock silenced. He wiggled his toes, for apparently, doing so would awaken the mind to its conscious state more efficiently, or something. He couldn’t exactly remember where he heard that crazy tip. Wiggling his toes sure wouldn’t make him go out and face the day ahead of him.
The alarm clock buzzed for the second time that morning, and Jarrod finally got up to turn it off. He lethargically shuffled out of the rough little bedroom to his hobbit sized bathroom. To a piping hot shower and to shave the irksome spikes off his face. He rummaged around the terrible mess of a closet to find something to wear.
He continued through the dreaded morning routine in the same state. Soon, he found himself in zombie-like status. Down the short hallway to the kitchen of his apartment, dressed in his slightly wrinkled suit. He shuffled around the cramped space.
Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be up so early. He had the whole week off from work. He heard the very annoying and squeaky voice of one of his many irritating co-workers echo, ‘Come on, Jarrod, we need you up and alert on this case!’
Did they expect him to be jumping for joy when he was told the week off would be postponed? Where they expecting him to be flattered at their awful attempt at sucking up to him? The people he had to see everyday were oblivious and arrogant. The thought of them only made him feel more annoyed as he woke up every morning at the crack of dawn.
He sat at the table with his bitter cup of coffee. Reading the newspaper at his second-hand kitchen table, watching the words on the page dance into one another, just as the phone rang. He stumbled around in the tiny living room to retrieve the phone.
It was Sam. It always was. Jarrod had considered Sam a friend since he moved to the current location. Sam also wasn’t afraid of him, unlike most people. Jarrod wasn’t especially talented at making many friends at all, for he was considered sour and rude to most people. Not to Sam though. Not yet at least; maybe they didn’t know each other well enough. For the true colours to be shown yet.
“Morning Jarrod. Running a little late today?” he asked, with a light voice.
Course I'm not. Woke up just on time this morning, Jarrod thought glumly to himself.
“No, why, what time is it?” he grumbled.
“I dunno, pretty late to still be at home I guess… but didn’t you get the call from the old man? Said he wanted you to meet up with him at the Watson’s residence,” Sam answered.
“Never heard anything like that” he responded frankly.
“Oh. Better get a move on then! Oh yeah, I called you on this fine day to ask if you were alright and all…”
“Alright?”
“Well, yeah. You were given the week off because of what happened to your family and all your stuff in the house this time last year. I wanted to…I don’t know… make sure you weren’t upset about it and stuff,” Sam explained hurriedly.
Jarrod didn’t reply.
“Right, right. Sorry about that. Anyways, catch ya later? I'm covering Tanya today and maybe we could talk about it later?” he asked hopefully, yet still with hesitation.
“Sure, sure, Sam. I have to go now,” he faked the promise into the phone before hanging up. He finished preparing for the day.
In the dingy hallway he locked up his apartment. Jarrod’s mind raced to come up with any last minute cover up stories to skip out of work. Traffic build-ups, the flu, appointments, Jarrod used almost every cover up story imaginable.
He decided just to stick with it and just get it all over with. Besides, he felt as if he had been lying a little too much lately. He was nearly sick of it. Sort of unfortunate, since his entire life here was created from a cover up story. It was a life that sprung up from a lie. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t drift off into the thoughts of the old life he used to know. Each night he slipped into sleep. In his room were precious memories. Which only then sickened him.