Poetry in Motion

08

Arthur wasn't an insomniac, not at all, he just tended to find himself falling asleep at irregular times of an evening, or early morning. So, having found himself comfortable in the chair, he wasn't too forthcoming with waking up. Admittedly, he may have sprawled out slightly, his legs stretched out in front of himself while the rest of him was slouched still at an angle.

The cover he had bought in was more haphazardly strewn around his legs than actually covering him successfully. As uncomfortable as he probably looked, he actually felt the opposite. So, when it came to waking, he was begrudging. Even if the wakeup call came in the form of his phone ringing. Incessantly ringing, it just wouldn't stop. It took his brain moments to register it, and his body even longer to react to it. But when he did, he was up out of the chair, almost tripping from the cover around his legs. He managed to balance himself by bracing his hands on the coffee table, he shook his legs free and dived around the table to the kitchen.

He did glance at Imelda, the ringing had caused a tired frown to appear on her face, clearly, she was struggling to wake. He couldn't help but pause for a moment though. She had stretched out on the sofa, her whole body still wrapped up in the blanket, her face buried in the cushions as she laid facing out into the room. She still looked content, her sleeve covered hand coming up to rub her eyes and seeing she was waking more, Arthur blinked and ran to the still ringing phone.

Whoever it was, they weren't giving up. If this was some telemarketer, Arthur was going to be seriously pissed off. Especially considering he was actually comfortable in sleep for once. It wasn't that he didn't settle, or that he had bad dreams, he just never ever fell into a deep sleep. Coupled with the amount of medication he was on; he spent most days walking around in a steady haze. Awake, but not fully. Aware, but with a tint of unawareness. Contradictory but true.

Regardless, he reached out and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" He questioned, clearing his throat after he talked. His voice just sounded heavy from sleep. Be fair, he himself didn't feel completely awake yet. Even if he returned to the chair, he doubted he'd go back to sleep.

"Arthur, you are alive then."

He rubbed a hand down his face, scrubbing at his eyes to try and get lingering sleep away. "Oh, Hoyt. Yeah, why would you ask such a thing?" He asked uncertainly, blinking away the stars which seemed to be in his vision from rubbing his eyes too hard. He didn't get why his boss would say such a ridiculous thing. And also, why he was phoning, Arthur didn't get calls. Hence the annoyance if it was someone trying to sell him something.

"Have you forgotten the fact that you have a job? Just, see, this is the thing; you have workdays, you tend to appear on these days, you know? You turn up, you do the job, you get paid, you go home. Rinse and repeat, Arthur." Hoyt said, Arthur leaned back against the counter, one arm keeping the phone to his ear, the other reaching to the side, hand gripping onto the counter edge. He frowned, not wholly getting what he was trying to say here. "Unless something happened, I couldn't quite understand why you thought you'd skip yesterday. Even asked around if anyone had seen you. And Randall said you wouldn't skip a day without reason. So, I'd like to hear your reason when you come in. That's if you're coming in? You better, Arthur. Or else I'll have to let you go, and that'd be a shame, what with the fact I've managed to get a job for you. Stop making my job harder, and just get in and do yours, Arthur." And with that, the line went dead. Hoyt hung up on him, and Arthur was left there standing confused. Until it dawned on him, the words sunk in and he got it; he missed work yesterday, and he was already running late for today.

Hanging the phone up, he rushed out of the room. He clattered into the bedroom, earning disgruntled words from Penny. She seemed to still be asleep, Arthur sent apologies her way before grabbing his gear and making sure everything was in his bag. The tacky plastic felt cold and frayed in his hand as he stood there, weighing it silently in his mind before putting it near the doorframe. He turned and commenced finding clean clothes for the day, once he had he all but collapsed through the bathroom door. He was rushing about so much his feet couldn't move off of the ground fast enough.