This Time

When I was Sierra’s age, getting up before 11 am was a chore. I think it is a chore for Sierra to be up before 1:00 pm honestly. Funny how that changes. Now, being up by 5 am (provided I got to bed on time) just feels great. I can get ready in the dim light while my baby son and my wife are fast asleep. Freshly shaved, showered, and combed. Today, I couldn’t help but feel I am dressing for my funeral, so I made sure I’m wearing my best, neatly pressed navy blue pants, my favorite gingham shirt, and a matching wool knit tie (I know, not silk, still need a bit of a IDGAF-attitude). I can grab my keys and coat, plenty of time to check my car’s fluids and top up power steering and oil (poor girl leaks like a sieve from every orifice), pick out the right tunes on my phone for the drive in.

Nice getting to the office before everyone else, the only sound coming from the building’s central air kicking on, the soft foot falls of my leather shoes on the carpet, the click of the motion sensors as they switch on the overhead lights as I pass, the Darth Vader-esque sigh of the coffee maker, my computer already booted from my automatic start command and ready for login, I can picture the data center, sitting in the basement, lighting up like Christmas, humming with life, the unimaginable information processing power at my fingertips, like an orchestra tuning their instruments awaiting their conductor (sorry, I get a little mad with power when I have a server cluster all to myself in the morning). It feels right, fresh as a new spring morning. I can turn up my speakers, no office mates to be courteous of. Of all things, I put on Galantis, one of Sierra’s favorite artists, I’ve developed some appreciation, and listening to her favorite songs brings back good memories of driving down the road with her in the passenger seat. I remembered when she first put them on, she said “they are so good, this song is like sex.” As I listen to the familiar unquenchably optimistic synth rhythms, I pull up her Instagram which I hadn’t looked at in a week, just some new posts of her wine tasting, hanging out at the coffee shop, and a video of her dancing in the front row at a concert, flashing colored lights playing across her face, her big brown eyes shining with youthful exuberance.

She’s done nothing but send me cryptic replies to my texts lately, each one seems more deprecating than the last, bordering on cruel if taken to logical extremes, it has to be over, whatever ‘it’ was. Time to wrap this mother up, fall on my sword if need be, just need to get her on the phone and find out what’s going on, one way or the other. I don’t know why it feels so good, perhaps it is time for a new start. Myrtle sent me a message last night while I slept, I saw it this morning. She sent it directly to my mischief email address (which I’d given her), bypassing the CL mail relay, which is a good sign. I hadn’t heard from her in over a day, our previous conversation ending abruptly, I figured I had said something that made her turn tail and run. But apparently not, she says she hopes I’m still interested in her. Even if it leads to nothing, it gives me hope. It softens losing Sierra, by reminding me that life exists on the other side.

The best thing about mornings is the potential, the fresh possibilities open for the rest of the day. By evening, it has often been decided, you’ll sit down possibly facing your disappointments and failures, or occasionally enjoying the glow of your successes. But, the morning is open and weightless, anything could happen.


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