The alarm erupts into a harsh beep and another day for David begins. He shuts the alarm off and rolls back over to hug his wife. He holds her in his arms and kisses her forehead. “Are you awake?” he whispers. The light slowly wanes brighter. The east-facing window allows the growing light to fall into the bedroom and awaken the two people inside.
“I am. What time is it?” replies Eleanor. The light casually grows brighter. The sunrise comes later and later with each passing day. “Six-thirty. I work at 8 today. My boss wants all of us to come in early the next few weeks. Too much work. I don’t want to go. You know, this routine, it is killing me,” David says as he rubs Eleanor’s stomach.
“I know, my love, but you must go. You can’t get fired. We need the money. I wish I could go for you,” she responds as she nestles her head under David’s. She wraps her arms around him and holds him. “Maybe I can find another job? One I enjoy doing,” mumbles David.
“It may be possible this time of year, but who knows? With unemployment so high these days, you know?” Eleanor states as she tucks her legs over and under David’s. “I know, but I just hate this grind—day after day—it’s not for me.” “Hey, this is true, but we must persevere. I’m at your side, love. When my leg heals up, I’ll work for a few months. I can’t work with this broken leg and we need this job to get through the winter,” considers Eleanor. David sighs. He knew he had to go to work. Today, next week, and on through the winter. She was right. The job was necessary.
The day was Thursday and David rose out of bed and went to the bathroom. He glances back at himself in the mirror. He made a mental note to trim his beard. It was already several scraggly inches down from his chin. And his boss John did not like the beard. It was not professional. Several occasions had passed where his boss threatened termination for the beard.
Dressed and hungry, David kisses Eleanor and told her to have a great day. He walks out of the bedroom and through the hallway and into the kitchen, his stomach grumbling. Breakfast is his favorite meal and he must begin each day with it. The food is plentiful this time of year. The garden the two worked all year produced a good harvest. He quickly assembles a fried egg, a bowl of porridge with butter and blueberries from the garden, and a slice of toast. He sets a pot of water to boil for coffee, pours a glass of orange juice, sits down at the large reddish-brown table, and eats.
He built the table over the past summer. He collected wood from scrap yards around the city and driftwood from lakes and rivers. David spent several weeks collecting and assembling the materials. He cut each piece to fit together, like a puzzle, sanded each one by hand and pieced them together. Recycled wood and nails came together in consonance creating an oblong table. He used the heart of his first deer of the season to stain it. This gave the wood and table a new life, a reincarnation.
He ate breakfast in solitude on workdays. Eleanor is not an early riser. This is one reason he hates the routine of work, and the idea of going to work—he is plucked away from the people he loved. He devoutly believes work should derive from the heart and establish itself near the home. Among friends, family, and neighbors. A community. But this is not the case. His office job requires the skills of a pimply, nervous, high school kid, which he surpassed greatly. But it pays well. He works at a marketing firm, reviewing reports and creating synopsis of them for advertising companies. He has a cubicle, on the fourth floor, right downtown, just south of the Truckee River and it measures eight feet by another eight. And the walls climb up, closing him in. His only solace comes from the few photographs of Lobo and Eleanor. But even these loose their luster in the never-changing fluorescent lights.
The pot of water steams and rocks under the boiling water. The last bit of porridge eaten. David retrieves some coffee beans, grinds them in a manual grinder Eleanor found at an antique store, pours them into a French press. Pouring the boiling water over the ground beans, the aroma of coffee arises and further awakens David. He sets about to collect his work belongings as the coffee and water dance together. Putting on his jacket and shoes, his shuffling around the house awakes Lobo. She stretches at his feet and wags her tail merrily. David lets her out into the yard.
“Now don’t do your business in the garden. That soil did well this year,” he tells her as she darts into the gray morning light. He returns to his coffee. He presses the grinds down and pours the black, steaming liquid into his rusty thermos. He turns to let Lobo in as Eleanor lumbers into the room. Limping without the aid crutches. He smiles at her and she returns the smile. Her hair, a light brown, flows down from her head like a waterfall to the middle of her back. She is wearing red panties with white dots on them with a blue tank top.
“Well good morning, Elly,” David says, as Lobo comes back in and settles down on her
bed.
“Good morning, my love. Are you all ready for work?” inquires Eleanor, as she takes David’s hand in his.
“I am,” David sadly replies.
“Have a great day. I’m going to work on my painting today. And, I’ll be home when you get off. I love you,” exclaims Eleanor as the two embrace.
“I love you too, have a great day,” sadly replies David as he grabs his bag and gives her a long, romantic kiss. Woefully, he walks out the door, unlocks his bike, a red Schwinn with rusty rims, and rolls away. Eleanor, standing on the stoop, waves goodbye, her hand saying I love you.
The commute to work for David always relaxes him and prepares him for the monotony of the day ahead. He is able to follow the river for most of the ride, keeping away from the crazed drivers and fumes. The day is cold, clear, and brisk. It is mid-November and the skies have remained oddly clear for a week or more. And David hopes to employ his luck and get a last season fishing and hunting trip in. He hopes the weather will hold off. He knows the snows that bury his favorite fishing river will be here any day.
Nearing downtown, his heart grows heavy. Another day at work, dealing with John, his boss, and all the paperwork. The air thickens from all the cars as his path turns away from the icy river. Turning onto the busy streets, he winds his way south to a giant corporate building. Looming tall over town the Imperial building rivals the casinos just north—looming tall and ominously. He looks up at the building. It dominates the sky above him—steel, concrete, and glass—not trees, dirt, or rock.
He locks his bike up in the same place every day. Arriving at work a tad early, he decides to enjoy the time outside in the brisk morning light. The air is frigid and his face stings from the ride. He nods to a co-worker as she walks into the building. Another co-worker walks by and greets David,
“Hello, when are you going to start driving? It’s quite cold out today,” he says, stopping to make small talk.
“Not sure really. I enjoy the keenness of the morning. And the ride in helps wake me up,” John replies as he locks his bike up.
“To each his own man, I know I wouldn’t be caught dead without my car in the winter.” The man, in a slick gray suit, red tie, and blue shirt, walks away, heels clicking, briefcase swaying, and into the building. David has no chance to reply. He turns back to the east. The sun has recently spilled over the mountains and he catches the golden moments it offers for enlightenment. His watch beeps—seven forty-five. He thinks of what he has to do for the day and his tardiness does not concern him. It is Thursday but he has the next day off. A final sojourn into the mountains awaits him and Lobo. The last solo venture of the year. He does not travel in the winter alone. He needs Eleanor to be there. Deciding to spend as much time outside, amidst the cold sunshine, he walks to the river.
The river flows, cold and dormant. The concrete walls direct the water eastward. David loves this river. He wishes it could flow free—Tahoe to Pyramid—as it once did. He absorbs the last of the sun, takes a deep, slow breath, and walks back to the building. He gets there soon after his watch beeps to signal the top of the hour. He pulls open the main door. His heart is heavy but David optimistically approaches the elevator. He presses the translucent white button, marked with the number four. It lights up. He waits. Soon the left elevator door opens and he shuffles in, no one else. The elevator glides to a halt. Ding. The doors slide open. He shuffles out into the busy office.
“Good morning, David. You’re late,” annoyed, John greets David as he walks by. David stops, returns to the door of John’s office. John looks up from his computer screen and awaits David’s response.
“I know, I had to catch the sunrise this morning, did you see it?” he calmly replies.
Sighing, John retorts, “I did not. You will stay an extra hour today, no pay. Don’t be late again, we have too much work to do this time of year.”
And with a ten-hour day ahead of him, David walks to his desk. Without saying a word. Already his heart throbs in pain; he feels no urge to start his work. The motivation cannot be found. But he knows John will be out and about, any moment, and he must look busy. He starts up his computer and while waiting for it to turn on, he flips through his daily assignments. Every morning, a co-worker, Gary, a zealot of a businessman, comes to work, and places a stack of paperwork on each desk. This stack varies in thickness with each day, and today’s is thicker than normal. Sighing in indignation, he pulls out his thermos and pours a steaming cup of coffee into a blue tin cup. The bottom of the cup wears several chips where rust grows, adding color and character to his favorite mug. His heart sinks as he thumbs through the stack. He sips at his coffee. The warmth and robust liquid warms his heart. “What am I doing?” he says to himself.
“I cannot live like this, I just can’t do it,” he mutters. A co-worker hears him, “Do what?” she says. Surprised, he pauses, thinking of a response. “Uh, oh, nothing. Just a lot of work,” he
replies, as he opens the first file of the day. “I hear that. Hey what are you doing after work?” she says as her head pops up from
behind the cubicle wall. “Driving to the mountains. Goin’ camping and fishin’,” he says, looking up to greet her. “Really? It’s cold, are you taking Eleanor?” she replies. Her short blond hair falls over
the cubicle wall.
“No, just Lobo, my pup. I’m taking the day off tomorrow and will enjoy the last of this good weather,” exclaims David. He begins typing, staring into the computer screen.
“Well, stay warm and be safe,” the co-worker replies as she returns to her cubicle. Sounds of furious typing soon emanate from her desk. And the morning continues on, David pointlessly typing and assessing, making small talk here and there and avoiding eye contact with his boss. The day slowly wanes by and he feels as if it will never end.
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