Some people do their best thinking in the morning. Christy woke 2 minutes before her alarm at 5:23am. It had been a full weekend, in fact the fullness of the previous week was typically completed by the artificial fullness of her weekends kept the fact hidden from plain sight that she lacked a life of substance beyond her work life. So while the Husker was on his way to his morning run and Donna for the first time on a weekday morning was in route back to her own place to ready herself for the day. Christy laid there alone on her crisp white sheets wearing her soft pink bottoms, that of course had been tailored to be just the right length, with matching soft pink button up short sleeve top. Some people are of course naturally charismatic. Christy decided there and then that morning that she did in fact consider herself adventurous, she was by her own design and intention fun, enthralling, and daring. The crisp cold 300 thread count sheets next to her told another story. The sheets declared on a daily basis that her job was her life, that she had no other diversions. They told a story of her expectations and the actuality of that a man or type of man taking a genuine interest in her, her expectations of his devotion to her and a completely empty life when she was not present was more akin to the affection levels that would be required by a delusional stocker, fairy tales or adolescent crushes filled with hopelessly desperate puppy love than an actual mature relationship combining love and compromise with a lasting passion.
As she got out of bed and made her way to the shower, her body was still stiff from the nights slumber her thoughts remained uncharacteristically not on the day ahead and its unrelenting demands but on the events of the day just passed. Steam filled the bathroom as she used her electric tooth brush with merciless intention, looking more like a person the tooth brush company would have used in an instructional video than an actual person brushing her teeth. As Christy unbuttoned the top three buttons on her top she thought
to her self how sensually tempting it was that the 4th button on her pajamas had not ever been buttoned. She revealed a white cotton low cut tank top, the low cut
portion, was her opinion, it was in fact rather prudish as tank tops go. The ritual of disrobing continued and she found herself in a modest pair of white cotton bikini briefs, how daring they were she thought. There were nuns who wore more daring undergarments to church. She though they were alluring and enticing, her build could have been sexy and alluring, but her personality simply did not allow it. Christy had convinced herself she knew what well bred and respectable men wanted in a lover and a partner, what they longed for and found attractive, her image was in fact too pure for even the most common mans’ taste let alone the depraved lustful needs of the
affluent and powerful.
Somewhere between shampoo rinse and repeat a song from a deplorable bar band she had heard in a dive bar in Leigh High Valley during summer break in college came
to mind.
“it’s not as bad as yesterday,
at least that’s what I’m told,
not much left to say,
but I hate waking up alone.”
She remembered a thin, manic singer who looked like death warmed over, pinning at a mostly empty room as if the walls held the secret to his misery. She stood there in the steam of the shower like he stood there that night, in a low fog on the stage filled with
putrid green light on his face, she had felt for a moment that he was truly alone in life. As she washed, she hummed the melody one last time another verse came to mind.
“Once I was in love,
but that you probably guessed,
the little girl shook up my world,
and I’m still a fucking wreck.”
After years of driving everything in her world it dawned on her she no longer knew where she was going, but for the first time ever she was worried about waking up alone.
Next Chapter The Things That Happen in Between Living
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