"Sorry...I didn't know you were here."
I live here, I thought.
Then I sat up in
bed and looked at the time on the desktop of my cel phone, placed it in its convenient wooden cradle at the head of the bed,
and sighed. If I was in the room, it was almost always plugged in and charging, and in the late hours when I became too tired
to speak I would place it in the corner peg of the lofted bed near my head. At odd hours I would receive text messages from
my dearest friends, all of whom happened to be far away and kindred in either insomnia or complete boredom. Sometimes I would
get a morning phone call to wake me...other times I would have to depend on the alarm I had set on the phone itself, which
had become my great composite companion.
And now, on a Sunday morning, she didn't know I
was in here. The place that I sleep....or try to, until the other three decide I'm finished sleeping. They decide when I start,
too, to my great dismay. Yes, Sunday mornings are the worst.
My phone had been silent for
the majority of a day, with one extremely pleasant exception, but the silence was a huge mishap from the normal routine. My
friends were sick, tired, busy...living their lives. I was living mine, too...you know, one of those many stretches of time
when you had to stop and wonder to yourself how much of time really gets wasted.
of wasted, while this was going on, my roomies were drinking... complaining.. stumbling...laughing empty braindead laughter
that can only come from an intoxicated mouth. Their friends did the same...
Two girls lay in each
other's arms on the couch, giggling and talking incoherently while a slobbishly dressed male figure looked on, entertained.
The girls swore they were not drunk...swore they were straight...swore they felt like throwing up. Half-full plastic glasses
of bright colors were perched on every available surface, their contents smelling strongly, but not nearly as strongly as
they would in a few short hours.
On Sunday morning, I stretched my aching back and glanced
at the phone once more. It delivered no comfort, and why should it? Even Andy Parker was turned away from me, lying awkwardly
at the edge of the bed. In my frustration I was sad to admit that I felt like pushing him off the edge, but it was a long
fall and I feared for his soft delicate little stuffed penguin body. Without thinking, I flipped to my stomach and covered
back up in warmth, convinced that my comfort should begin soon.
"It smells funny in here,"
she remarked for the third time. I still had no idea what she was talking about. She was always noticing things worthy of
complaint when it came to our living space. Good, I thought. Maybe then she will start to take her Saturday night friends
to drink elsewhere!!
I asked her what smelled funny, and she said she didn't know and attached
another dryer sheet to the fan. Immediately the overwhelming scent of clean laundry filled my head and I had to cough. She
looked up at me and laughed, so I laughed too.
"Are you awake?" she asked. Of course I was
awake...I had been sitting here talking to her for five minutes. She sighed, "No..I mean, are you getting up or do I still
have to be quiet?"
I laughed again, this time with a bitter edge. I was awake because she had
failed miserably at being quiet in the first place. It seemed I was always inconveniencing them with my necessity for sleep.
I didn't want to be resentful. I had been overloaded with that sickening feeling the night
before, and now I just wanted to live in the daylight. Maybe today would be splendid in golden glory. Maybe I would finally
run across someone who I wouldn't have to smile at politely while laughing or crying on the inside. Its so heartsickening
to have to do that.
I threw down the covers and inched backwards, placing the phone on the
edge of the bed so I could reach it from the floor if it ever did decide to ring. I climbed carefully down the side of the
loft, feeling the navy blue rug force its wakefulness on me from underneath. It was a chilly morning...and the other two had
left hours ago. How they could have been awake and coherent puzzled me. Only a few short hours ago they had still been doing
shots and attempting to charm the other gender with their drunken confidence.
I had been sitting
at my desk, feeling my stereo pulsing its heavy bass through the wall as they abused it with some sort of horrid West Coast
hip hop. I listened to the conversations whey were having against my will, occasionally hearing a few of the lyrics in their
music. Lapdances.....bitches....hoes....holla. I smiled in spite of myself and shuddered it away as glass broke in the other
room. It was fine, though, because it hadn't been entirely genuine in the first place. I had been thinking of something pleasant
that had long since left me.
Now the entire night had left me...in time but not necessarily
in content. The other room where the excitement had been was now cold and bathed in shadowy morning rays, where I would take
my first real steps into a reality I was starting to dislike more and more every second.