Convergence

As the morning sun broke through the bedroom window and found the sliver where the curtains succumbed to its piercing rays, its fingers poked into her sleeping eyes. She knew right away, the way that you sometimes knew when it was going to rain before the clouds roll in, or the way that you knew you forgot something before you knew what it actually was, that it was going to be a bad day.

Good days. Bad days. She knew somewhere along the way that the cliche simplicity had become the full-bodied definition of their lives. What had it even been before that, before just the good days and the bad days? There had to have been more. She heard him downstairs fumbling with the coffee maker, wondering how long he had been awake, and if he had even tried to be quiet enough to let her sleep.

She kept her eyes closed tightly, as if willing the intruding glowing orb back to its own slumber. Wishing, as she often did, that time would go backwards for just a bit, and wondering if she just kept willing it that it would happen. The light's defiance being stronger, she finally gave in and threw a rumpled pillow toward the window. She rolled off the side of the bed in a single slow motion. The cool tile tingled the bottom of her feet as she shuffled across it to the bathroom sink.

The face that stared back from the mirror regarded her with a kind of sympathy. It's familiarity was comforting, but sad in the same moment. She poked at a few lines at the corner of her eyes. Where had those come from? She threw a quick splash of water on her face and grabbed a shirt off the hook by the door, pulling it over the top of her head slowly. Shuffling downstairs, she inhaled the scent of freshly roasted beans, a pleasant welcome to the dread building in the pit of her stomach.

"Coffee." he said simply as she walked in. He hadn't taken a second coffee cup out of the cupboard, which wasn't unusual, nor had he taken the sugar out of the pantry, since he liked his black. She poured her own and let the warmth from the ceramic mug steam into her still waking fingers. The nuisance sunbeams seemed to have followed her downstairs, and they started to poke their way into the back windows and slider door facing the east, as if taunting her with their attempt to spread the brightness that she didn't feel.

The little blue jay who had taken up residence in the cherry blossom tree in the yard appeared outside the slider for its ritual morning rendezvous. It hopped cautiously over the stepping stones, and then ducked its head shyly at the identical bird in the mirrored glass. It sat at the edge of the last stone and waited patiently for some acknowledgement from its reflected beau, ignorantly futile in its own aspiration.

She pulled out the bistro chair across from his, the metal legs scratching across the smooth tile. His eyes flickered towards her for just a moment, and as she sat she saw them cloud with a light confusion. The pinch of chaos stayed in his eyes and didn't furrow his brow, but it was long enough for her to see it and remember again... it was going to be a bad day.

Maybe she had an hour, a little more, before the anger and rage set in. Before it was all lost again. She readjusted her chair to watch the bird outside. His hand brushed hers, and she flinched at the rawness of his unexpected touch. The bird at the window caught his eye also, and he didn't seem to notice her reaction. He moved his hand back, brushing hers a second time, and then it stayed on top of hers, the weight of it melding into hers as it sat there. It had a strange familiarity that wafted up with the aroma of her cup of coffee.

The clarity broke through the surface in a burst of color. She saw the shaky hand giving her a flower on their first date, and a nervous first kiss at the front door before her father turned on the porch light. She saw him sweep her across the threshold of their first house, and empty shell they filled couch by chair. Their first dinner hosting friends and family at the large dining room table that she had wanted so that she would never feel alone.

He saw her smile, and his face involuntarily sprung upwards to match.

She saw him holding their newborn infant, truly a tiny miracle of a creation. Saw them both laughing with glee at the first tiny steps across the carpet in the living room. She looked around the room behind them, but no signs of baby chairs or crawling toys remained. When had those last been there? She saw the pile of books on the end table, the top one askew as if it had been knocked into recently. That shouldn't be that way. She wondered if the cleaning girl had forgotten to come, or if she was coming this week.

She looked down at the hand that held hers. There were wrinkles across its digits, rivers of time criss-crossing into a web that was difficult to trace. Where had those come from? The empty gaze shifted to the window, where the little bird had begun chittering to itself, apparently content with the lack of reciprocity. What a silly little creature it was, to not realize day after day that there was no real hope in its repeated actions.

She pulled her hand away from the stranger across the table, a sigh creeping heavily across her chest, weighing down her heart as it came. The dread began to sink in again, and she could feel it deep in her bones... it was definitely going to be a bad day.