Beep –

Beep –

BEEP, BEE –

The alarm clock silenced only after his heavy hand fell on the “dismiss” button during his 3rd swing. Lingering there, his arm outstretched to the clock while the rest of him remained unmoved, before finally swinging his legs off of the bed, the dilapidated mattress sank a bit under his shifting weight. His hands dragged across his face after he sat up, the scruff of his jaw sharp against his fingers. Staring at the floor for a moment as a bit of pale morning light filtered in, he glanced at the abused alarm-clock through the spaces between his calloused digits; 6:00 AM again, was it? At least he hadn’t forgotten to set the alarm correctly this time.

After tearing himself from the bed, the sheets still warm and beckoning him back to sleep, he shuffled across the bedroom and towards the door, tripping on a cardboard moving box on the way out. It was sitting a few inches from the door, still unpacked and neglected despite him living there for a year or so; it served him right for not moving it prior. He had convinced himself it was for a reason, though; he moved so often, taking the stuff out or even bothering to move it was a waste of time. Work had him running ragged, and $8.50 an hour didn’t warrant him organizing his apartment to look like something in the Architectural Digest. Hell, he couldn’t even afford a magazine like that. Slamming his hands on a wall to stop his fall, and then turning to stare at the box like it had flipped him off, his eyes landed on something that had jumped out.

The photograph must’ve been sitting on top of the pile and slid off. He mustered just enough effort to lean over, pick up the poorly-constructed frame, and have his spine make an unsettling cracking noise process. Leaning back with both a grimace and his hand pressed on the small of his back, he paused.

A picture of what he lost stared back at him with a smile on her face, her auburn mess of shoulder length hair pulled back into a stub of a ponytail. This was nearly a year ago, back when they’d do work together in gardens, and he remembered the time so clearly. The sheen of sweat they both had when they came home, how they’d argue from time to time about who would shower first. He’d succumb to her sing-songy voice that somehow remained pleasant even though her expression scrunched into a defiant scowl, and he’d leave her to shower with a peck on her forehead as his departing note. A perfect couple in a less than perfect life, but it still worked. He missed that voice. He wished the last time that he had heard it wasn’t as she threw on an overcoat and left.

The only thing she had left him with was this blurry phone-camera photo and a scratchless engagement ring. A poignant creak lingered in the room as he shifted his weight, along with the sounds of cars rushing by out on the street as he continued on en route to his kitchen. All the man remembered was that he was tired, that his partner “had enough” of his habits. Still, he kept her photo, and sat it down on top of a stack of books next to the microwave.

“Sir?”

Whomever this was, his voice was like a whining child and broadcasted from the front door–no man should have to be bothered at 6:10 AM with a voice like this youngster’s. Probably paid $5.00 a hour by the landlord to manage the intercom...

“Mr. Nells?”

Practically punching the intercom button with his thumb, he managed to growl, “What?”

“Someone is here for you.”

“... Send them off, it’s too early to deal with this bulls*it.”

A pause came, one of those scared-child-who-fears-angry-old-men pauses, and it was almost enough time for him to amble back to the kitchen. Then, the intercom-boy squeaked back, “... They won’t leave.”

He was going to be late for work at this rate. Switching the grey intercom off, he shuffled over to the coathanger that nearly fell over every time he threw a coat on or took a jacket off. Whoever this was would have to put up with an unshaven man in a stained t-shirt, some shorts, and a jacket way past its prime.

As he stomped down 3 flights of stairs and past the startled boy on the first level, shoving open the door once he reached the exit, he didn’t even have time to turn around before his visitor started talking.

“You’ve seen better days.”

His breath left his lungs in a puff of steam for a moment as he spinned looked at her. Her voice hadn’t changed one bit. She hadn’t changed one bit, he marked in his head, except for a few crows feet that sat beside her eyes. Every bit of air in his lungs seemed to disappear.

“Why did you come back?”