Chapter 5: A New Day?
We Spoke In Passing.
It’s Finally Monday Now, Right?
Her Pov:
I fell asleep.
I don’t know at what time or where I was or what I was doing at the time… but — my phone’s dead. But judging by the light, creeping through, the slit in my undrawn curtains, it was far from time to get up yet. So I did the wise thing and lingered there for a little while, or so I thought, I was never leaving my bed, I was never one of those people that were up at the crack of dawn, whether its to work out, or to recount a psychotic twenty step morning routine or taking actionable steps to the their pursuit of world domination or so it seemed, that routine’s far too militant for me. But anyways… my covers are far too comfortable, too encompassing.
So today’s really the day isn’t it, I know some would say “oh its only Monday” and twist and contort their face in anticipatory dread of the oncoming work week, I too was like that once, but then I grew to appreciate the occupied time, the weekends is what I’ve always hated, I always felt too socially exposed and insecure of the fact that I never did anything worth talking about with my time. Let alone my failed attempts of occupying it with social time.
But this time around, the seed of the break from the monotony with no lows or highs was planted in my mind. What if I finally see him again, where maybe we continue this dance of near chance encounters just slightly bordering each other’s worlds, me perched in the canopy, him making his laps on the occupied streets weaving through the crowds. Still bound by our routines, Like Friday never happened, him not as appreciative of the moments we shared as I was. Only serving as an afterthought…
I never really asked him what he did in his spare time or if he did anything at all, hobbies maybe? Outside of working out, or days spent beneath a hood in this kind of mechanical solitude. But you know when you’re trying to get to know someone, you never really know what questions to ask, let alone what lies behind each door, you know… beyond automated responses, but the depth behind those trap doors or floors that you’d see in those Indiana Jones movies, you know when they’re exploring pyramids or remote ancient ruins that’s been long since closed off.
So how do I even get there, with a soft ‘pardon for the intrusion’ with a particular upper class British accent you know— not the cockney kind… I know there’s potential, I remember the glimpse I caught in passing, in the garage where he lowered his walls as I lowered mine, but how do we recreate that moment?, what variables can we control this time? But who knows, I might just be too invested too soon…
So do I try a little harder this time round, and put myself out there more? Finally develop a full make up routine, with numerous layers of blush, concealer, holding spray, lip combos, faux lashes, eye liner and contours and god knows what else. Let alone a comprehensive hair day. Would he even notice the difference, and the time it took or maybe its better spent, putting together more vibrant smart casual outfits that were a little more daring than I’d like. I say that like I haven’t been prepping, rehearsing it all in my mind all weekend, I finally did look back on the Pinterest boards I made a little while ago, and the pieces I bought inspired by them, that still remain tagged… They’re long past their return date, despite their mint condition so I guess I might as well put them to use. There were three outfits I set out, ranging from loud, louder and loudest if you know what I mean. In the commanding attention sense that is.
Oh right, and the assortment of accessories and charms just to balance with some subtlety.
What’s going on with me honestly?
I wake up again.
What feels like moments later, but my phone is on this time. Dawn has long since passed it’s too bright for it to have only been sunrise.
Ummm, I’m late, I think.
At getting ready that is, but it’s as if my duvet covers have me bound in its nurturing embrace, quietly asking for a few more moments before it’s the world that I would face.
Does this phenomenon have a name?
Separation anxiety inherited from owner to bed frame, bed sheets and duvets? Symbiotic in terms of the nature of our exchange.
My stress, anxiety, fears, worries and shame are the methods I would pay…
for a night’s rest that is, till I face the hustle and bustle that is my work day, the moment I exit my apartment but before that already greeted by the sounds of the world waking up, backed up traffic of oncoming cars, the idle engine hums, the honking, from labourers with power tools in hand, to those in corporate blue collar to shirt and ties, the rage fuelled school-run parents dropping off their kids at a hurried pace, I just hope its school break this time round, god how long has it been? 6 years maybe 10?
so…
do I treat it like any other and not get hopes up, go through the usual motions, same time same route, do I have a particular light in my guise tossing aside my unbothered demure guise, and become more animated rehearsing my anticipation for his approach, more expressive in ways I’d often hide or hesitate, maybe I’ll make a joke to Mike beating him to the punch, maybe I’ll finally join in on one of those, conversations in the social pits, who knows I don’t know maybe I’ll try a little harder, less calculated and measured, more human and disorderly, I don’t know something different, a new vibe a different register, one that feels more true, more me, opting for hot chocolate, rather than the Caramel macchiato iced coffee or black tea, imbued with too much espresso just to sound grown or sophisticated like those with facial expressions that long since turned sour. I’d even tried to emulate those corporate girlies day in the life’s, I already tried the matcha craze, a member of a group of cattle grazing is how u felt half the time.
what I am even saying…
(Timer Goes off)
sigh
Its time to leave…
His Pov:
Well… I’m sore as hell and can’t sleep. Yup, feels like a 4am tweet doesn’t it. I don’t know why just every night its the same tale, regardless of when I sleep or simply the lack of it, I’m always up before my alarm let alone sunrise, its like my anxiousness wakes me up before any alarm can. You see— usually a particular crackhead workout of mine would do the trick… the 2-3 hour kind, you know how it goes, exhaust the body then shortly would follow the mind, but I can only do it so many times.
I already used that up on Saturday however on a Sunday would be cutting it too close right?
my right shoulder already sounds a little funny like gears shifting at times, you know the aged rugged kind, I can’t even sleep on that side as I would like anymore, quite the debacle to be in at age 25, and no I’m not taking collagen or some nasty fish oils. If only I could use some WD40 or whatever the tin man used in OZ and be back in action at whatever the cost.
It’s still quite dark, I can hardly make out parts of my room in the distance, the kind that’d you’d mistake a jacket or hoodie hung up for someone standing there, to the point where you oscillate between it is or it is and the heart rate to match.
till the occasional intrusion of street lights and oncoming cars remind me that its as its always been, all in my head that is. I don’t know if it’s just me but I have a tendency to exaggerate or overestimate the weight of the present or incoming moment, then I’d wince or brace for its abrupt arrival, despite me watching the clock or the game show countdown that’d get louder the closer it gets, but there’s no option to phone a friend, but the relief is unmatched when the result is not what I’d expect.
What does that even say about me, that I struggle to live in the moment? that I rehearse and calculate every step? till every line and interaction is seamless? less forced, less mechanical?, with no signs that I sat and deliberated in my heart and mind to remain expressive and not to run and retreat inside.
Its strange that its Monday now, like how say in theatre or performance events ‘its showtime!!!’ Or ‘break a leg’ but as usual I’m always sat with the particular near debilitating stage fright, but the winds blowing now, its crisp, a little cold, but not too much— just enough to snap me out of it.
I really should’ve closed that window, I thought it being slightly ajar would’ve been a healthy compromise, but I guess not.
Anyways…
Tightly wrapped, in the embrace of my covers almost like I’ve been swaddled you know the newborn baby kind, but a burrito is the metaphor I would always vocalise, its rare that I’d sit, bask in this, I’d usually fill this idle time with a 5am run of course a night/morning like this would’ve been prime, empty streets, just me and the street lights, but I guess that urge has brought up a long rooted question of ‘what are you running from, or what are you afraid of running towards?’, I desire connection, but keep it at distance, it’s like I observe and analyse each interaction but never actually sit in it, or be present, only in moments my mask slips where I soften my eyes or lower the shades that cover them.
But here I am presented another opportunity to face all that inhibits me, finally express all that her presence that one night has done for me, I mean I could just pop in on her lunch break, was it at 12:30 or 1pm but would that be too forward too inconsiderate, would I be disrupting an important work call, where she’s meant to be focused and composed, taking her out of her work flow, would my attempts be brushed aside, would I be stepping too far out of what’s expected of me, being nonchalant unassuming not shy, or would that be a lovely surprise, a break from the monotony that coats both of our lives.
Maybe I’ll catch her at the end of her work day, or just 20 minutes before and sit beside her idly waiting, greeting her with a warm smile when our eyes as acknowledgement that says “I’m here but get your work done there not long left, then we’ll talk.” Catch up about our uneventful weekends where each other was central to our thoughts, or is that me just hoping that it was? Not that I’d have the urge to divulge, maybe that’d be too honest too forward to early, too much. Maybe saying it’s nice seeing you again, would simply be enough.
Its been a long while since the last instalment hasn’t it,
its really been eating at me, but with all things that matter they honestly take time and this right here has been in the slow cooker. Slowly but surely i’ll be chipping away at the story chapter by chapter, baby steps you know, so just bare with me as you’ve been so far, and umm to Aysha Im finally back with another chapter even though its a bit of tease at that, I keep edging you guys.
But it gets better I promise 😭😭😭 I have it all mapped out I just gotta put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard or however you wanna put it or slice it idk anyways till next time my beloved ‘Idle Timers’ and thanks for being a part of the journey thus far, I still find it funny how it all started off as bet rather than a genuine self directed attempt shoutout to Deer Girl I doubt she even remembers, but were here now, anyways toodles.
-Rich