Been Up Long?
WHEN my alarm went off at six the next morning I reluctantly turned it off and got out of bed. Pulling on some clothes, I stumbled to the bathroom and then into the kitchen. Bill was once again among the living, sitting at the table looking wide awake.
“Been up long?” I mumbled.
“About five hours. Why’d you let me sleep?”
“You seemed to need it. When I started making noise you just rolled over and turned your back to me, so I left you alone to sleep. I knew you’d feel better, more rested. I gave up sex so you could sleep.”
“You want to go now?” he asked. I wasn’t sure if he was joking around or if he meant it. I didn’t like it in either case.
“I have to go to work. And you have to stop offering me something only when you know I can’t do anything about it!” I told him.
“Jeesh. I guess you are a little frustrated. You don’t have to bite my head off.”
“That would be the closest to a little head anyone has been in this house in a very, very long time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go shower and get dressed so I can go earn some money.”
Without waiting for a reply I turned and left the room. I had intended to get breakfast in the kitchen, but I was now too pissed off to eat. Breakfast would wait until I got to work, where I would grab a bagel or something.
When I got out of the shower, I found Bill in the bathroom waiting for me. “I’m sorry,” he said, and I believed him.
“I know. Me, too. It just seems like we are perpetually off-cycle anymore. When I’m up, you’re down, and when I’m down, you’re up. I’ll be so glad when our lives get back to some semblance of normal and we’re on somewhat the same schedules. This is getting real old, real fast.” I moved past him to go into the bedroom and get dressed.
“You have time for a quickie?” he asked.
“No, I do not have time for a quickie or anything else! I told you I have to go to work!” After I had pulled on my pants and shirt I looked at my watch. “And I have to be there in twenty-one minutes, so technically I don’t even have time for this conversation.”
“Mark, you’re working too hard.”
“No! Really? I figured that one out all by myself.”
“What is your schedule like today?” he asked.
Working very hard to remain pleasant, or somewhat pleasant, or at least vaguely pleasant, I told him, “I work from seven to two, and then I go over to campus for two classes and my evening study group.”
“So what time do you get done?”
“Study group is usually done by nine.”
“So you won’t be here until bedtime.”
“Your bedtime, maybe, but that’s when I have to start my homework for the next day. Finals are coming up faster than seems possible, and I cannot fall behind. There is just no time to catch up if I do fall behind.”
“What do you do for dinner on these study group nights?”
“We meet in the Student Union, so usually we all just grab a piece of pizza or something like that.”
“Can I drive you to work and then have the car back over waiting for you when you get finished at two?”
“Sure. No problem. What do you have planned for today?” I asked.
“Not sure yet. Maybe go to the beach and contemplate how screwed up my life is at the moment.”
Sighing, I felt for him, but I didn’t have time for him to get all down and depressed at the moment.
“Bill, I love you, but today I don’t have time to be of any help to you. I’m sorry. You understand that I’m busy today, right?”
“Sure,” he said, somewhat morosely.
“Hold that depression thing to weekends, and I’ll see if I can carve out some time for you.” I grabbed my cell phone and flipped to my calendar. “Oh, hell!” I said. “I’m working Saturday. Same offer holds true, but after 2:00 p.m.”
“You’re working opening shift again?”
“Looks like that’s what they’ve got me scheduled to do.”
“Mark. Let’s go away for a weekend, at least overnight.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way—I honestly love the sound of that idea—but there are two problems. One, we have no money, and two, I don’t have any time to even jerk off anymore, let alone go away.”
“I heard you took a trip to Palm Springs while I was away,” he said. I wasn’t sure where he was going with that, so I simply answered his statement with one of my own.
“Yes, I did. And please don’t remind me. My head still throbs involuntarily every time I think back to that night. All I remember is the pain. I was too drunk to remember much about the good part of the trip.” I shuddered a little at the memory. I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since that night and had no intention of ever doing so again. I was never much of a drinker, which may be why I got so stinking drunk that night in Palm Springs.
But I didn’t have time to consider such things at the moment. Grabbing my backpack, I checked to be sure I had the correct books and then headed toward the door. When I got to the car and saw that Bill wasn’t with me, I turned, went back to the house, and said, somewhat impatiently, “Come on! I’ve got to go or I’ll be late for work!”
He jumped up and followed me out to the car to drive me to work. We were silent on the drive to the shop. Before I got out of the car I turned to him and said, “I’m sorry, Bill. This is no more fun for me than it is for you. I wish we had all the time and money in the world. Unfortunately, at the moment I don’t have either. When this quarter ends I’m looking forward to sleeping for about a week and doing absolutely nothing. After I wake up from my weeklong nap, then I’ll be ready to go away somewhere, anywhere, for an overnight.” I leaned over, kissed him good-bye, and said, “And get a job today if at all possible, please.”
Why I ever said that I will never know. I guess I was just monumentally pissed that he had all the time in the world and nothing to do, and I was perpetually running, going to school, earning an income, being the responsible adult, while he was the kid who lounged around all day long. I should have gone back and apologized, but by the time I stopped and looked back, he was already backing up and then driving away. I sighed. Why was my life such a mess at the moment? I was tired of having Bill’s debacle continue to haunt us, and it appeared to still be doing exactly that.