Daily Write - Coffee and Sunshine

At first I thought it was my alarm clock that was causing the incessant noise that dragged me out of a sound sleep. I swatted aimlessly at my night stand, hoping to cut that blasted thing off before my brain could fully pull itself out of the comfortable dark fog that enveloped it. However, after smacking the snooze button more than once, I realized it wasn’t my alarm clock that was making the noise. It was actually my cell phone jingling loudly amid the clutter on my night stand. And there was only one person that could have been calling me at this time of morning.

I turned my face just enough so my voice was not muffled by my pillows as I grabbed my phone. I didn't bother to look at the number calling me. I just said hello. The response to my groggy salutations was a warm and chipper voice. Way too chipper for this time of morning. One of the many reasons waking up to these phone calls was a nice way to start my morning. Must nicer than being shoved on, which I am pretty much immune to at this point.

“Good morning, handsome.”

I rolled over on my back, phone up to my ear, arm splaying out on the rest of the bed. I knew exactly how I awful I sounded at this time of morning. Far from handsome. But far be it for me to argue with a woman. Especially when she was giving me a compliment.

“Good morning to you, Sunshine.” I answered, yawning and stretching as I replied.

I remember the first time I had used that nickname. It was just something that tumbled out of my mouth. Very awkwardly actually. But you would have thought I had just recited a romantic sonnet the way those beautiful grey eyes lit up. Now I use it constantly. Just because I know she grins when I use it. I laid in the bed and just listened to her voice. She had already been out and about at this hour. She started recounting what she had done with her morning and some interesting happenings from the night before. Half the time I don’t know what she is talking about, especially when I have just woken up. She knows it. But it doesn’t stop her from talking and it doesn’t stop me from listening.

Time simply idles before I finally decide to get up and find my glasses. I hate putting them on. It signifies that the day is starting and I actually have to leave this blissful spot where it is just me listening to her voice. And though I would love to just ignore the fact that another day of my life has started, I simply can't do that. I make my way over to the window and part the blinds, phone still next to me ear. Only one vehicle in the driveway. Just like yesterday, just like the day before that and the day before that. But, it has become a strange compulsion now. Whenever the phone rings, I check the bed before I ever say anything more than hello. Then I walk to window to see if it is just my car in front of the house. I am waiting for the day that I have to touch my doorknob three times before I walk outside. Though I expect it wouldn’t make my heart beat any less loudly.

“Jonathan, have you had your morning coffee yet?”

I have been listening the entire time, but haven't really added much in the way of responding outside of sleepy grunts and throaty noises to let her know that the call hasn't been dropped. She knows my morning routine almost as if we had known each other for years. And if I'm not that talkative, it is because I haven't had my coffee yet. However, I am a pretty predictable man. So it shouldn't surprise me that she knows me inside and out by this point.

“I’m sorry, I suppose you were looking for something more of a conversation.”

“Oh, don't apologize. Just go and get your coffee. That way we can talk our trip. You haven't forgotten, have you?"

Ah yes, our trip. How could I forget that? Just thinking about it made my heart beat a little bit faster. That strange flutter I always get whenever I am with her. I reassured her that I had not forgotten. In fact, I had picked out the spot where we were going. It is a place that is pretty special to me. I am actually a bit nervous. An odd feeling and yet a pleasant one. It is that strange butterfly feeling that you aren't sure if you want to go away or not. I told her that I was on my way to the kitchen now and pretty soon I would be caffeinated and lucid enough to speak.

I meandered out of the bedroom. The house was silent, no one it but me. The kitchen smelled like coffee. The kitchen always smelled like coffee. Well that's not entirely true. When we first moved in the kitchen always smelled like frying, that greasy, batter fragrance that permeates everything. My wife used to do a lot of frying. Not that much anymore. Now it's just coffee.

"Seems like there is a pot already made. I should be a talking machine in no time."

She really didn’t need me to carry on the conversation. She spoke enough for the two of us. Probably the reason why we got along so well on the day we met. I remember that day pretty vividly. I had gotten in my car that morning and just decided to take a drive, a long one. One of those drives where the destination didn’t matter. I was just trying to get as much distance as possible. I found myself at the bus station. Where would I go? I thought to myself. If I could get a ticket to anywhere, where would I head? Honestly, I had absolutely no clue. That is just how unadventurous I had become. I didn't even dream about escaping to another place any more. Instead, I found myself across the street from that station at some unknown name coffee shop.

I had barely gotten the warm paper cup in my fingers before I was backed into and the liquid ended up all over the front of my shirt. I turned to yell at whoever it was that just caused to me waste three dollars. And there was she was, wide eyed and apologetic, with an overstuffed duffel bag over one shoulder and a cup of her own in the other hand.

I am not sure how we ended up talking so long. She offered me her coffee, which I refused. She offered to pay for the one that had been spilled. And again, I refused. Next thing I know, I was sitting in booth and we had been talking for hours about nothing at all. I have no idea how I got so swept up in her. She had these large grey eyes and she grinned with such ease. She was reading Les Miserables, just because. Her name was Denise. However, I like calling her Sunshine much better.

"I was thinking that I could drive out to our usual spot, I pick you up, and then we can head out. I would pack light, though."

As I was talking, I noticed a piece of folded paper on the counter. Opening it up, I instantly recognized Sienna's handwriting. It was starting to get that bubbly teenage girl look, losing the young girl messy script that I had been used to. There was a sudden pang in the center of my gut as I stood there, looking at this note. What was I doing? If someone were to even think about doing anything remotely like this to either of my daughters, I would pull their heart out through their ribs. And yet, here I was, doing this to my wife. For weeks I had been doing this. I knew it was wrong. I did not even try to justify it to myself. My wife had done nothing to deserve me doing this to her. My daughters would never understand why their father had broken their mother's heart. Every decent bone in my body told me that I should just hang up the phone and say goodbye to Denise forever.

"Something wrong?"

Denise had noticed the awkward pause and the long silence. She also knew what it meant. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. It was small things that make me regret these phone calls, these trips to our usual spot, and everything else Denise and I had shared. Innocent things like pictures, notes, reminders of soccer games and piano recitals. And every once in a while, that perfect evening where I remember why I married my wife and what I love about my kids. If I had any shred of decency left, I would tell Denise everything that is wrong with what we were doing.

"No," I answered finally, sliding my glasses from on top of my head to the bridge of my nose, "Daughter left me a note on the counter is all."

"You know, if you having second thoughts about this weekend we don't have to go. We can just meet at our normal spot. I'm fine with doing that."

That was my Sunshine. So understanding.

"No, I'm still coming. Both of my girls will be out of the house for the weekend. And I'm sure that I can come up with something to tell my wife. I might not have to say anything at all. I'm sure she wouldn't notice if I was gone or not."

The whole trip had been my idea in the first place. It was the rush that it gave me that made me stick with it. I have absolutely no intention of a having serious relationship with Denise. No, the trip was solely for the feeling of the adrenaline that coursed through my veins every time I thought about it. Just wondering if I could do this and get away with it. Would my wife catch me? Or would I come home from that weekend and my life continue on as normal? My normal life was stale and bored me. I had a nice wife. I had good kids. But there was no excitement in that any more. But this thing with Denise, it was new, it was stimulating, it thrilled me. It was me being an adrenaline junkie without having to find some high place to jump off of. It was me not being bland and predictable. It was me making bad choices and risky decisions, throwing caution to the wind, finally.

Everything was in place. Now all I had to do was wait for the day to come. I closed my phone and placed it haphazardly on the counter somewhere. I stood my silent house, finishing my coffee. I put my glasses back on top of my head. I was not ready to face the day just yet.