[Morning Vigor and Stupor]
A generic beeping sound shot through the early morning, with the sun fresh over the horizon. Abel’s eyes opened without a struggle, and he slowly sat up in bed. His eyes narrowed, the alarm hurting his ears, and knowing he didn’t require the help of a clock to wake up; his internal clock was accustomed to waking daily at six in the morning sharp. The alarm was for his partner.
Abel turned to the sleeping form that lay next to him, submersed under covers that rose and fell regularly. The form neither shifted nor squirmed. A question that came to Abel almost daily once again resurfaced: how could someone sleep through the ruckus of a rather loud alarm clock?
The sound became unbearable, and Abel quickly shut the alarm off. Despite being awake under five minutes, his senses were fully with him, and his mind was already working normally. It was one of the advantages of being a morning person.
“Wake up, Mark,” Abel called, and though the intention was supposed to awake someone, he said it quietly. Softly, he shook the smaller form’s shoulder, trying to disrupt his dream and rest.
Now the partner turned and looked up with barely open blue-gray eyes. “What?” Mark asked, his voice nearly transforming into a yawn. Unlike Abel, he wasn’t a morning person, and his mind never operated properly unless awake for at least ten minutes.
“If you want a good breakfast, wake up.”
Mark struggled to keep his attention focused on Abel, and he only turned over and said, “I’ll be fine if I have some cereal.”
Abel frowned at the thought. Cereal was too easy to make and common. Surely, there should be some effort put into starting the day out right? Instead, he tried another approach to waking his partner.
“It’s the last time you’ll see me for several hours.”
Mark roused himself up and clumsily wrapped his arms around his neck. “I’m sorry that I’m tired. Love you.” Translation: I'm not getting up.
“Try to be awake by the time I’ve showered,” Abel said, and he escaped from Mark’s weak hold on him. With no great effort, Abel stepped off the luxurious bed and headed to the bathroom. Almost happily, clearly still drained, Mark resumed his place under the covers, trying to plug in more minutes of sleep.
The shower was quick and warm, with absolutely no disturbances (though if it were from Mark, Abel wouldn’t mind). In hardly any time at all, he stepped back into the bedroom, a towel wrapped snug around his waist. At its previous spot the form still lay. "What a child," was Abel’s immediate thought, and it justified why he shouldn’t be quick to anger over something meaningless. Children stayed up late and paid the toll for it in the morning.
He moved to his closet and picked out a clean white shirt, a fresh suit that was dark blue with matching pants, and picked out a tie—not a required uniform, but one Abel stuck to by his own choice. Taking a piece of undergarment as well, he dressed himself accordingly, checking the result in the mirror.
Abel checked his watch: six-nineteen. In about an hour and forty minutes—which left enough time for a good breakfast—he had to be sitting in his office at his desk, prepared to rigorously accomplish tasks. Again, he found himself at Mark's side. "Wake up."
Eyes opened, unfocused.
"You'll need to be awake for school," continued Abel.
"First class starts at nine-something," came the mumbled reply.
"There's no reason not to wake up now."
Mark whined, hiding his face in his soft pillow, too drained to argue how tired he was.
Abel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A hassle, a struggle, a child was Mark. Mornings were a role play: Abel as the mother harping endlessly for her child to be prepared for school. Mark could very well be Abel's child. A child who was five years his junior, went to college, held an unstable job, drank, and engaged in sex.
"I'm making breakfast now, so get up."
He went into the kitchen and set out a pan; he was in the mood for traditional bacon and eggs with a biscuit on the side. Always careful when cooking, no worry clouded his mind about staining his clothes with
Mark still hadn't woken up.
Eating alone when company was preferred and not impossible to obtain was dejecting, the silence hollowing out the room more so, yet Abel kept a content composure. It was still early in the morning, and nothing of great concern happened yet; at least try to be fine before hell came forth. Only then would it be appropriate to gather up piles of rage to build a looming fortress.
After the meal, dishes were calmly placed into the sink. A plate of bacon was left on the table while leftover eggs took refuge in the fridge. Easy enough for a certain someone to find.
The next destination was the study, Abel's room that contained a clean desk perfect and all materials needed for work. Items needed displayed in Abel's night from the previous night, and because the room was precisely organized, it didn't take long to gather and place them in his briefcase. Abel shrugged his jacket on and the outfit of a nearly perfect hardworking man was complete: nice hair, clean shaven, snazzy suit, a non-tacky tie, and a briefcase.
Abel took one last look at the still sleeping figure in the bed, only locks of black visible among the sheets. A shame there would be no goodbye kiss, as seen in black-and-white movies of the man and the housewife.
He'd better eat the bacon and eggs.
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