WHEN YOU FINISH SAVING THE WORLD ✸ Joel Miller

iii. Deja Vu

[ CHAPTER THREE ! ]

deja vu

2023

"WAKE UP!" IT'S A quarter past eight. I muffle my groan with my pillow as I roll over. "Are you up?" She knows me too well. I lift my head from the fabric and rub my eyes.

"I'm up!" I call out but want nothing more than to stay in and sleep. 

I lay here for a moment, staring at my ceiling with the blanket off of me. The ceiling has paint all clustered together and it reminds me of how I ended up here. On the floor of an old apartment with paper-thin walls in Boston. At least in Philadelphia, I had a bed. But with the cost of a moving truck to cross the state border in a pandemic, I had to sell my bed. And our couch, and everything else. 

Each morning as I attempt to stand up, I'm reminded of how hard the floor is beneath my aging body. We'd been living here for three months now but I don't think I'll ever get used to sleeping on this floor and the pain it leaves my back in. 

Once I've brushed my teeth, I make my way into the kitchen. Hayden is sitting at the table with a box of crayons and a blank sheet of paper. I open the door to the cupboard and pull out a box of cereal, along with two blue bowls. I then went to the fridge and pulled a carton of milk out. There was just barely enough for one bowl, let alone two. I fill each bowl to it's brim with cereal then carefully add the milk.

My estimation was correct and I can't help but sigh as I stare at my plain cereal. Recovering, I grab two spoons and place one in each of the plastic bowls. 

I place the bowl with milk in front of Hayden, careful not to let it splash on her book. She sets her crayon down and smiles up at me. "Thank you." 

I like that she's honestly grateful for this. She's happy to have me and happy to have an apartment and happy to have an air mattress to sleep on at night. I made sure of it. 

I may not be able to afford pancake mix or strawberries for breakfast but I was able to get her cereal with just enough milk. Although, it does make me sad to know she can't watch movies on a TV or hang out with friends. Cause she doesn't have friends and I can't pay for a TV. 

Sure, Brian left us some money when he died, but the bastard barely had enough to cover rent for a year. 

I take a spoonful of the dry cornflakes in my mouth and watch as my daughter draws what appears to be a family portrait. "What are you drawing today?" I wonder aloud. The corners of her lips curl into a small smile and she holds it up for me to see. It's a heavily detailed drawing of me, a man I can't recognise, and her. "Who's the guy?" 

"Dad."

I re-examine the portrait and I can somewhat make out Brian's face. Somehow, Hayden remembered what her dad looked like nearly nine months after his death. "Ah." She continues drawing and I continue thinking. "You know I've got to work today, right?"