When his alarm clock sounded promptly at six in the morning on this particular Thursday morning – like it did every Monday through Friday morning at six – Lawrence Fitzpickle met the day with the usual resignation that gave him no options and nothing to think about. Delores, his wife of more than 25 years, lay on her side, snoring and drooling onto the pillow. She didn't have to wake up as early and as a rule, she didn't because she worked 2ndshift at the Juvenile Women's Correctional Facility located one town over. Lawrence sat up gingerly and slid off the bed; he was sore... more sore than usual. The only reason he budged at all was because the alarm was blaring and because after spending several hours being the bottom in Delores' Wednesday Night Strap-On Fantasy, his bowels were about to release a movement of semi-biblical proportions.
After he was finished on the toilet, and after making sure there were no more open wounds, Lawrence the hall towards the kitchen. He walked into the kitchen and was greeted by Tumbles the cat ,sitting on the kitchen counter in front of the coffee pot, staring at him. Waiting. There had been a time when Lawrence tried to make his coffee before letting the cat out; but over the years the two of them had developed a sort of détente. Lawrence had agreed to let the cat out first and the cat agreed – in as much as cats can agree to anything – not to piss on his pillow.
Lawrence considered this one of his more successful negotiations, and tried to apply its lessons to other parts of his life. He especially liked that it required no words, no confrontation, no listing of demands.
Tumbles the cat, seeing that Lawrence was indeed going to continue to abide by their silent agreement, he jumped off the counter and flounced towards the back door. Lawrence followed him, unlocked the door, opened it, and stood there as the cat stepped grandly out into the day.
Closing the door behind Tumbles, Lawrence set about making coffee. When he looked in the cabinet, he noticed they were out of the coffee he liked; he'd forgotten to buy some on the way home the day before. The only coffee there was the hazelnut flavored kind Delores liked sometimes. He didn't like hazelnut coffee; it left an after taste in his mouth that he found unpleasant and reminded him of dirty socks. He put enough water and grounds in the coffee maker to brew a full pot even though he knew Delores would only drink half of one cup.
While he was in the shower, Lawrence thought about his day. Today would be like yesterday and like tomorrow. Even though the weekend was approaching, there was nothing exciting to look forward to, except for the extra two hours of sleep he would get. As the water trickled down from his balding scalp down his puffy frame, Lawrence looked down at himself and wondered what his life might have been like if he had been bolder. It wasn't that he didn't love his wife; it wasn't even that he hated his job, particularly. His job was a job like most others and he was sure Delores was a wife like most others. He felt like the people under him in his department liked him. He felt like the executive managers liked him. He hadn't been offered a promotion ever since he'd been the youngest employee to be made Department Manager. The trajectory had been clear, then; he had been sure he was the fast track. But the next bump never came; after a while, when his bosses were younger men than he was, Lawrence stopped hoping for that next promotion.
The only thing that was going to make his day bearable was the cup of coffee he planned to stop and get on the way to work. He'd have to stop at the coffee shop and stand in line; but it was Thursday, which meant that pretty young girl... the one who always smiled and who always remembered what kind of coffee he wanted … would be working. Lora. Her name was Lora. Lora with the long red hair, shiny eyes, and puffy lips. Lora who was working her way through college to be an elementary school teacher. Lora with the nose ring and tiny star tattoo on her neck. He often wondered if she had other tattoos and where they were. It would be improper to ask, of course. But he liked to imagine them, highlights on her young body, stories of a life still fresh with possibilities. He thought about her and he felt himself come alive. Just a little. But then Lawrence's excitement turned to sadness, then resignation when he realized he'd gotten too much soap in an open cut left behind by Delores' new strap-on monster, the Majestic 7000.