Nightly Build, Corona Gale 1.1.1
Kate Foley snored[1] alone in bed, deeply asleep in a way her boyfriend never could snore, who shared the bed and in fact owned it, in fact owned just about everything in the apartment, had still not in months become used to the noise or gravity of that mountainous inhalation. It came from nowhere he could ascertain, not her throat or chest or deeper. But he’d grown to it, and it wasn’t wonderful but what could he do?[2] He stood barefoot twenty feet from her, his back to her and a wall between them, his downturned sleepily half-watching the foggy brim of water turn from still to feverish, half-watching his phone[3] in the other hand, flicking, flicking, flicking. He’d been awake since the snoring broke through his dreams, as it did every morning she stayed over, which was invariable as of late, since he asked her to basically move in and she basically did even though she brought basically nothing, which caused a suspicion he brought up during third-beer rants about privacy and trust, her defense being she didn’t like to own things, as if that was a rational stance about anything[4].
Ollie poured water into a contraption that eventually produced decent coffee, not worrying about making noise. Cups clanged on the breakfast tray, a small silver plate with foldout legs, a pattern of an aluminum flower against an aluminum sky underneath two cups of coffee and a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, leftover sausage. Ollie made or reheated these things while listening to a dulcet podcast[5] about fancier ways of making coffee. He put the tray down on the floor beside her, and he sat on the bed and put his hand gently on her hair, petting it slightly. She didn’t stir, but she stopped snoring and started to sort of purr, and then in a few moments rose to consciousness, a vacation smile appearing on her face as she remembered where and who she was.
“Do I have to get up?” She asked like a six year old.
Ollie said, “I made you breakfast. Then you can do what you want.”
“I’m going to try to not get too used to this,” she said. “You spoil me. You treat me like a princess.”
“I treat you like a person,” he said, getting up and heading towards the shower. “It’s just that most people don’t know how to do that.”
Next to Kate on the reclaimed alabaster nightstand sat an alarm clock, black, analogue, with hands that glowed in the dark. She had bought it as a joke, because it was her second one. The original sat just right of it, digital and glowing with green numbers, an army of buttons above and behind them to help out with settings and radio preferences. Sitting comfortably just behind the original was a third, this one a cute Japanese ball clock shaped like the head of a cat. To snooze, you had to pull a level in the back that slowly lifted up again to trigger the alarm every ten minutes. There were two other alarms, but they didn’t matter. What mattered is that her nightstand was just alarm clocks, 5 trinkets recognizing hearty ambition and futile practicality. She would buy a new one and within days her unconscious muscle memory would figure out the exact motion needed to not only hit snooze but disable the alarm entirely. She had no real power to stop it. At first, she had them trigger all at the same time, so she would need to exert some real effort to kill them all. Later, she scheduled them at 5 minute intervals. Nothing helped. She sleepily gazed over at her collection of attempts at a possible morning. None of them really did the trick.
Kate chewed on bacon in bed. She flipped around on her phone, liking posts and deleting spam. The coffee was perfect and nothing hurt[6]. She’d been seeing this guy for about six months, and he knew how to wake her up and not ask too many questions. She hadn’t once thought of running. Well, she’d thought about it as a routine measure, but not because of anything he did. In his bed, eating his bacon and using his wifi, she considered the possibility of it actually working out. Could she just coast like this forever? She’d lied well enough. He wasn’t suspicious of anything. He didn’t seem to stress about the unknowns. Ollie didn’t seem to stress about anything, as if he’d bottled the ability to glide through life. Did this bother her on some level? She asked herself this before, and the answer was no, then. It was still no. So many problems she usually ran into with her life and with her relationships was still turning up no. She almost didn’t know how to deal with it, except with the dumb reminder that there was nothing to deal with. So long as she could keep up a healthy facade, there was no drama.
“Oh!” Ollie yelled from the shower. “You got a letter. This morning. Three hours before the mail guy usually comes. And even though you don’t live here.”
[1] She sleeps like the dead with him, and with other boys, but only when she wasn’t at work. She never slept much while on the job.
[2] Repeat this.
[3] Ollie always has a phone in his hand.
[4] Repeat this.
[5] Ollie listens to podcasts about nicer versions of the things he does.
[6] This is a reference to something. Find it?
