by Amos Gunner
CHAPTER 21: ADAM
I slapped the alarm clock several times before it stopped buzzing its obnoxious, rude buzz, its terrible entry into a new day. I had always meant to buy another alarm clock, ideally something that would gently wake me with soft music. Every morning, after having been accosted by the buzz again, I made it imperative to stop by a store on the way home and buy a new alarm clock. But as the day went on, my pledge faded until it was forgotten, to be remembered only when I set it again at night. The next morning, the cycle began again. It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t need alarm. I’ll be sleeping in.
I groaned and stretched my arm. My wild dreams fragmented as I rose to consciousness. She pressed herself against my chest. I nuzzled into her red hair. I held back the urge to sneeze. A part in her hair, shaped like a lighting bolt, struck me for the first time as sexy. To call her beautiful from top to bottom would not be an exaggeration.
I carefully freed my arm and reset the alarm. My bones cracked as I rolled out of bed.
In the bathroom mirror, I saw that my tangled hair and delirious smile made me look insane. This pleased me for some reason. A vibrant current ran through my muscles. Impossible to be so energized, it seemed, considering how little sleep I got, but I could’ve jogged a marathon if I wanted.
I had gone into the shower smelling like her and came out smelling like Irish Spring. Sad, but necessary. She hugged my pillow and sang with her snore. I dressed mechanically as my gaze swept over the question mark shape of her body. Her cheek invited me to kiss it. I finished dressing and accepted.
I downed a bowl of cereal. The coffee brewed. I made the pot strong for Brenda. I filled my mug, got my lunch from the fridge and keys and wallet, and contemplated my wife’s form one last time. I whispered an apology for leaving. I kissed her one last time.
I remember everything, and not just because it happened a few hours ago. If God were to plug the holes where my life is now draining, if I were to go on another twenty years, I’d remember the details of this morning. For a moment, I was happy. It was a peculiar happy. I was complete yet emptied out. Pure. Soft, but I was also at a sharp emotional extreme. When it seems that after decades of living, my heart had felt everything it could, here was something new. I’m grateful I felt it at all.
But would’ve life been like if I’d felt it earlier?
