Monochrome

5:59. He wakes up. His eyes open slowly, sore and swollen. He’s still for a few moments, to collect his thoughts. He glances toward the alarm clock, then reaches over to push a button. The alarm sounds at 6:00, but he always wakes up at 5:59. He briefly wonders why he sets the thing at all, and remembers the day he doesn’t will be the day that he doesn’t wake up.

It’s been 168 days since she last walked out of their apartment. His apartment. He tries not to think about it. He doesn’t know how many days it’s been. He still has some of her things in the top drawer of his dresser, the rest he donated. He can almost smell the nearly empty bottle of her perfume when he walks by to get ready for the day.

His bathroom is small, barely large enough for everything it needs. He keeps it clean and organized.

The kitchen isn’t clean. Dishes are piled in the sink, he isn’t sure how long they’ve been there. He doesn’t want to look at them this early, so checks the cupboard for a granola bar. He finds one, and washes it down with a glass of pulp-free orange juice.

6:24. It’s a beautiful September morning. The air is crisp and there are some clouds in the otherwise blue sky. It rained last night, the pavement is still slightly damp, and everything smells simultaneously of dirt and cleanliness. He inhales deeply as he steps out. This is a good morning for a run. He’ll be gone for 32 minutes, a disappointment. He should have been back in 29.

7:38. He steps back outside, showered and dressed for work. Instead of a briefcase, he wears a backpack. He’ll ride his bicycle this morning. As he walks toward it, she flashes through his mind. She loved this bike. He used to ride it to work every morning, but she cheerfully “borrowed” it so often that his habit dissolved. She had her own bike, but his was “more fun”. He still drives to work most of the time.

8:22. He arrives at the office early. He prefers it that way, it’s quieter. He doesn’t mind his job at all. It’s tedious some days, but he makes a lot of money and usually gets three day weekends. He’ll be able to retire in eight years. He is 32.

The people he works with are friendly. He doesn’t have the energy to talk with them in the morning, although he likes them. The only other person he sees in the office this early is his secretary, Thomas. Thomas says good morning as he walks by.

13:01. He walks out of his office for lunch. Thomas offers to go for him, or with him. Thomas is worried about him, he’s lost too much weight in recent months. He’s handsome, but has begun looking ill. He declines. He’s going to the deli and grabbing a sandwich, he tells Tom. He’s gone for the full hour. He doesn’t eat. He meant to, but got distracted walking.

17:14. He’s walking out of his office building to go home. He’s invited for drinks with colleagues, but respectfully declines. Not today, he tells them. He has plans with an old friend.

18:58. He arrives at the home of his old school friend. They’ve known each other since they were fourteen. His friend has a wife now, and three children. They’re a beautiful family, and they’re happy. He sees them twice a month. They’re hosting a dinner party tonight. He brought a bottle of expensive wine. His friend and his wife will drink it later, privately.

There are nine people here tonight. They laugh and talk about their lives, then laugh some more. The drinks are delicious, the food is better. Two of them just got back from Spain, one is waiting on a big promotion, and one couple is expecting their second child. These are all good people and he is lucky to know them.

One of the women tells him that he looks pale. She says he needs someone in his life, that he must be lonely. She has a friend that she’d like him to meet. Her friend is free tomorrow. He smiles his most charming smile and thanks her. He would love to meet her friend, but cannot make tomorrow work. He has plans. There’s a new rock climbing wall downtown, and his work colleague has insisted they go together.

23:35. He walks through his front door and looks around. He needs to get rid of half of this junk. He has too much furniture, too many books he’ll never read again, too much art on the walls that he’s tired of looking at.

He carefully puts away his shoes and hangs up his jacket. He walks into the kitchen, the dishes are still in the sink, filthy. He rolls up his sleeves and turns on the tap.

00:06. He sends a text message to a colleague, “Hi! sry it’s so late, but something’s come up and I can’t join you at the wall tomorrow. You’ll have to tell me how it is! Maybe we can go next weekend?” The response comes within minutes. “Hey man it’s no problem, we can go another time. Everything good?” He doesn’t reply. He really will go rock climbing soon, but can already feel tomorrow’s exhaustion. He has other things he needs to do anyway.

1:27. He’s ready for bed, but realizes he forgot to make it this morning. He changes the sheets and climbs in, then picks up the book sitting on his night stand. His niece asked him to read it. It’s about a young woman who fights for women. He smiles. His niece is still a child, but already a force of nature.

2:15. He’s done reading for now. The book isn’t quite finished, he’ll save the rest for tomorrow.

He turns off the light, lies down, and stares up into nothing. The ceiling is up there somewhere in the dark. It’s a quiet neighbourhood at night. There’s an owl nearby, and he thinks there might be a raccoon digging in Tessa’s trash bins again.

He rolls over, now facing the open window. He can’t hear anything anymore. He starts to cry, and wishes he could see the sun.