A Month Later - March 3, 2005

The first rays of sunlight began to sneak through the metal blinds and pour into the small apartment. As darkness retreated from the kitchen table, covered with mountains of old “Get Well Soon” cards and unpaid bills, he began stirring on the nearby couch. Agitated and frustrated he buried his head facedown into the pillow and let out a groan. He remained motionless on his stomach for several moments, aside from a couple of coughs. But as the entire room continued to fill with light, he let out a defeated grunt and sat up.

Rolling his neck about his shoulders, he sleepily reached for his watch on the floor. Opening his eyes and then squinting again he read the time. “6:30,” he mumbled hoarsely, “only four hours again.”

As he sat on the edge of the couch he took a slow look about the room. It was messier than yesterday. She would have scolded him for sure. As he pulled himself off his seat and into a standing position he could feel the stiffness in his back from spending too many nights on the couch. Maybe tonight he’d actually be able to fall asleep in the bedroom and stay there the whole night.

Stepping over empty beer bottles and dirty plates he made his way to the bathroom with his eyes half shut. He reached for the light switch and stood stunned and blinking as the bathroom flooded with florescent beams. After adjusting to the brightness he made his way over to the sink. He opened the medicine cabinet and took out a bottle of pills, “tomorrow, no pills,” he grumbled.

Twisting the lid off the orange bottle he shook two multi-colored capsules into his right palm and turned on the sink with his left hand, which had a permanent indention on the ring finger from the wedding band that he had taken off yesterday. He had mulled over that decision to remove the band or not, but decided that it would only be only for a couple days while the jeweler engraved a new message on it. He then placed the medicine on the tip of his tongue and bent over to take a sip of the streaming cold water from the faucet. As he rose back up from the sink he shut the medicine cabinet and stood motionless. His eyes were fixed on the image in front of him. In the mirror he saw the evidence of insomnia in those red, puffy, bloodshot eyes. He could also see whiskers on the very same face that she had loved to touch after his morning shave. She hated it when it wasn’t smooth and he used to detest it when she nagged him about things like that.

He gripped the bathroom counter with both hands and leaned closer towards the mirror and continued to gaze. She would be mad that he hadn’t cut his hair. But going to the barber just wasn’t the same as when she would do it for him and a barber couldn’t mess up his sideburns like she always did. She would get so discouraged by that, but he would laugh and tell her they’d even out in a week. She would blush and he would kiss her cheek and stroke her curly brown hair that always smelled like mint.

It all seemed like an eternity ago, but it had only been only month since he last felt the tingle of mint in his nostrils.