Light from the cold morning shone through Dave Skinner’s kitchen window, wanting to be welcoming but wasting the opportunity; instead, the light stretched its golden fingers and touched the rim of his coffee mug like a thirsty visitor. Dave lifted his mug and took a sip. His coffee had gone cold.
Outside, noise from the street reminded Dave that life existed beyond his apartment. But what kind of a life was it? he wondered. He sipped his coffee again and peaked through his curtains. Snow cramped the gutters, mating with wet leaves in a graceless way; people sped by each other, their shoulders rubbing, eyes elsewhere; birds squawked at the passersby; angry horns blared, brakes screeched; and shouts evaporated in dense air. Life outside was complicated.
Dave sat down on his bed and pulled over a blanket. The blackout curtains kept most of the light’s fingers out, but some creeped through the dark, ragged edges. White noise crinkled from the TV. Dave almost reached for his remote, but the distance between bed and dresser was a canyon. Instead, he rolled over and opened his phone. There were no new messages. He expected nothing less. The lack of notifications pulled at his ankles. His phone buzzed as he put it under his pillow. Dave answered before a second buzz could vibrate.
“Dave?” the voice said. “Hey, just wanted to check on you. How are things?”
“I’m doing okay,” Dave said. His heart was racing, his mind a shattered jar, each thought turning to sand until the building pressure. “What’s going on with you?” What’s going on with you? The question looped into a psychic cacophony.
“Nothing new. Your uncle lost his keys again, so I’m driving over to help him find them. Do you want me to swing by after? We can get lunch if you’re up for it.”
Dave paused, his pulse a hummingbird’s wings. He wanted to count each beat, but that wasn’t useful. Fast was fast. Inhale. Exhale. Start at the top. Try again, but don’t count the beats. He said, “Maybe tomorrow, if that works. I have stuff going on today. Still have a few of his boxes to go through.”
Silence separated the space between Dave and his mother. The gap lasted but a few seconds, but to Dave it was a decade.
“You’ll get through this stuff when you get through it, Dave. He would’ve wanted you to take your time anyway. You know how he was. Patient, thoughtful, slow. Too slow.”
“Not too slow to leave,” Dave said. The words seared his tongue and stabbed at his composure. “I’m gonna go. Thanks for calling.”
“Sure. Talk tomorrow. I’m here, Dave.”
“I know.”
Rain started to fall, and within moments the pallid sun-fingers retreated through the thick curtains. The muted tapping on the roof above was a siren’s song, and Dave’s bed was the black water of a perilous sea. But did they need to be? Dave wondered if, perhaps, the pat-pat-pat of the gentle rain needed to lull him into another slumber; the sounds, too, could be the motivating drum of an army marching to victory, or a muted applause from the supportive audience. Dave rubbed his eyes and let the thoughts sink into that black water.
Tomorrow, Dave thought, and he shut his eyes.
