That Spark

THE MIDDLE

I wake up to a quiet, tasteless and cold morning.

I do not hear the dishes clanking, or smell a fresh pot of coffee brewing, or taste Ellie's lips on mine.

I give it an extra minute or two; just in case, but nothing changes, except for an empty gust of wind blowing the pink curtains past into meaningless ruffles.

I realize that I really am all alone.

I rewind back to last night, where I was visualizing what it would feel like to have a day all to myself, but despite my ego, I've got to admit that it's not so great.
In fact, not great at all.

What do I have to look forward to?

Having the bed all to myself?

Unloading body fluids in peace?

Am I not better than this?

No.

Speaks the animal from within.

I am going to enjoy the hell out of today. With that motto in mind, I rise as the energy within me does.

I start with dropping my clothes all over the floor as I head for the shower; because Ellie hates that. But I've got no restrictions today. I can do as I please.

In the ongoing course of my shenanigans, I leave the toilet seat up, don't replace the toothpaste cap, and shower with the curtain undrawn.

I usually keep it drawn in a useless attempt to keep Ellie out, but I can't remember a time I sneered at her for joining me in the shower.

That woman really knows how to work those hands . . .

Anyway, back to the scene now that is the bedroom--which I might add, isn't really pretty--where I am squating and sifting through the heap of clothes I have just tossed around like a five year old, desperately looking for my keys. I grumble at myself for being so defiant when Ellie clearly couldn't see me misbehave, and at missing out on the chance of grabbing them off the key ring where they are supposed to be like everyday, whistling that song that keeps coming on the radio.

But no, here I was, with the potential of being dangerously late to work all because I wanted to piss my wife off--who by the way isn't even here--by being reckless.

What does she see in me?

"Aha!" I find the pink key chain--what is it with women and pink?--under my dirty boxers and hold them up in my fist like I've just been given a raise.

Not to mention, that a raise was in order. I've been working at that stupid diner as a bus boy for far too long and it was about time I got some recognition.

I fully breathe in the testosterone in the air, feeling like a man after ages. I glance around the bedroom with the pink bed spreads, curtains, towels . . . even the air refresher smelled like pink. Well, of course my maleness has been hindered! It's like I've been in a pink tutu all this time.

I contemplate ripping the curtains off at least, but I knew I was short for time and Tim would fire me before I could say pink. And I hadn't even had breakfast yet.

I groan, even coming close to cursing Ellie. She just had to leave me today, huh?

Stumbling into the kitchen, I hastily open cabinets and fish for something that would keep me standing until lunch time. The fridge was no bust, and the cabinets only had canned stuff, and my eyes finally spotted the bread.

Sandwich it is.

Actually, make that a half sandwich. There is only one slice of bread left--who the hell kept one slice of bread lying around?--and a banana by its side, and so I put two and two together (more like one and half), because looking for more healthy and wholesome options for breakfast would cost me my only job.

If I screw that up, then it's back to getting in line for free lodging at the Church. It worked for me, but I could never put Ellie through something like that. Not again. Anger flooded my pores when I think about him, that worthless skank who tried to touch her that night.

I couldn't let that happen again.

Ellie was not of my denomination. She came from a well off family--well, just her mother living off her dead father's pension. He had died before Ellie was born-- and I couldn't bear to watch her sleep in flea-infested mattresses again. And besides, she had told me once that I was much softer to sleep on.

Well, that was before our marriage went to the dogs.

I snort, recollecting the things she had said to me. I was never good enough for her. She always wanted more. But yet . . . she looked at me like I was her hero--I suppose I was; saving her and all-- and like she had no regrets. Maybe she's grateful. Yup, that's it. She puts up with me because she's too damn grateful.

I, on the other hand don't consider myself an angel. No, I am the swallowed, digested, excreted, processed and canned form of an angel to put up with her.

Speaking of canned crap, I divert my attention back to the half-bread-full-banana sandwich-- is this what banana bread is supposed to be?--and work it down as I make my way out the door, locking it behind me. Then, I realize that I don't have my apron with me, and scuttle back into the house to get it through a string of curses. Any other day, it'd be hanging by the door, but not today.

The other half of my sandwich was missing today, afterall.

*

Would it be a surprise if I said work was an utter flop too?

Because I wasn't off to a good start, I felt uncoordinated through most of the morning. I mixed up the orders--something I don't ever do; even hung over, and gave the stink eye to a five year old.

He gave it right back.

Would it also be a surprise if I said that was just the beginning of my troubles?

No siree.

Every bloody customer who had set their bloody foot in this bloody diner was hell bent on turning my only day of freedom into a disaster.

I had wanted to call in sick and take the day off, but since Terry was hung over and the other chap was out paying his taxes--the kid couldn't afford the silverware in the diner and he was out paying taxes.

There's something to be said for honesty. Or silliness. I'm not kidding.

As long as you didn't put enough clues in the bank for the government to sniff out that you were turning over from being belly up for so long, you would be fine. That's what I've been doing any way. So that's how Tim had practically welcomed me with open arms. And so I had stayed and faced the torture that is still being dished out to me. Tim had promised to double my pay for today, and that is the only reason I am here; not because of the goodness of my heart.

The door bell chimes, and cue . . . . (drumroll) . . . another woman who reminds me of Ellie!

This time, it was the eyes. The last woman had the exact same lips as Ellie; down to the plumpness and innocence, the same gait before that, and much before that, the same boobs. And it happened to be her kid that I had snarled at.

I snorted, cursing at her in my head. I say in my head because, as the lips woman had told me; I had cursed enough to wilt the flower in her hair.

And wilted it had.

Who still wore flowers in their hair?

People like Ellie, I'm sure. I swear, I could gift that woman an elastic band and she'd flaunt it, saying . . . saying this is what my husband gave me. And then telling them how much I loved her. That was what had happened with Terry last time.

I smile, but the animal nicks my head from the inside.

Stop thinking about her!

Well, that's hardly feasible when there are a dozen women with parts reminding me of her, now is it!

"Excuse me?"

I glance up when a thin, pale hand waves at me in the air, and yes, it's the woman with the same eyes.

"Yes?" I start off, but then stop short a meter away from her, when the sunlight glints off her face and shows me exactly what I am missing today.

No. freaking. way.