Picking Up Roots

The digital displayed blinked a neon green 4:00 am at him, as “Better Man” began to play gently. He tapped snooze and rolled over wondering why he hadn’t chosen “Black.” It sounded more conducive to sleep, and that’s what he wanted.

He spun back over and hit the button to turn the alarm off. Knowing the snooze would only last two minutes, and what was the point?

He slid from beneath the covers; the carpet scratchy on his toes. He wondered why he hadn’t ripped it up as he grabbed what he needed for the gym.

The bathroom lights brought him into sharp review. A single gray hair was cutting a crooked path down his right temple. He wondered if this would have been easier when he was younger?

His coworkers thought he was crazy for being up this early. He always told them he had things to do, but he often wondered if it was worth the dark pockets that formed below his eyes. None of the articles he’d read had mentioned those.

His ankles popped on each step as he descended into the lighted darkness of the living room. He’d given up on trying to be silent years before. It didn’t matter now anyway.

He put the water on for tea and turned his laptop on, hoping today would be the day. He cracked the blinds so a sliver of moonlight would break through. It was how he preferred to search, in the quiet, before the rest of the world was awake.

He would try for a couple of hours before he went to the gym. Maybe today he would find her again. At worst, he’d be further ahead for being up so early.

Brain awake, he began to search the keys for the thread of her.

The hunger gnawed at his guts. He hugged himself against it as much as the cold. Icicles from the gray sky exploded against the sidewalk. He huddled closer into the doorway. The emptiness in his stomach was a cold pit, worse than any rainy fall day, more desperate.

He had a half-eaten burger the day before. He’d taken it from the top of a city trashcan. He’d dug deeper for less. He couldn’t understand why people threw out so much food, so much waste.

The burger had been good. Juicy. But there was no cheese. How could they have a burger with no cheese?

He had money yesterday. Not a lot, but enough for something to eat. He remembered thinking about a burrito from one of the food trucks. It had made him salivate.

They’d cooked last night. There wasn’t much, but Genie had wanted to have a little something, and he couldn’t say no. They’d put their money together and bought what they could. It hadn’t amounted to more than a taste, but it had been delicious. It had warmed him.

But now he was cold and aching with want. He thought he should walk; maybe find a busier corner for his change cup or head to the Mission to see what they were serving for lunch. It was raining hard though, and lunch wouldn’t solve the problem of tonight’s dinner.

He knew Genie would come calling, looking for him to help put something together for them. She was so beautiful. He couldn’t let her down. She needed him. He needed her.

The ground was cold beneath him. He’d put down a piece of cardboard, but it had been soaked in the night. He shivered against the morning cold.

He should get up; find some money. He was hungry.

Zoe curled in close to Jim. She had this way of contorting her body so it appeared they were one person. He used to enjoy it, but now it stank of desperation.  Her head was buried in his neck, so she couldn’t see the look of disgust on his face.

Jim had a list of things he still needed to do, and it was already late afternoon. As much as he understood they might need moments like this to rebuild what they had, it felt like these moments had been happening all too often over the past two years.

Zoe had this need to lie around and feel his touch to feel secure. It had been all right at first, but it had begun to infringe on the accomplishment of household tasks and then bigger goals. He’d already lain with her for an extra half hour this morning.

In their current entanglement, Jim’s arms were pinned to his sides, and Zoe’s slight frame sat heavy on his chest and stomach, making each breath a strain. He squirmed as it became harder to breathe. Zoe tightened her hold.

Panic came into his mind, coupled with his frustration at not being able to get to his remaining chores. His breathing was short and desperate. He thought to throw Zoe off, but knew that wasn’t the answer. He didn’t want to upset her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, I can tell something is wrong with you. Tell me.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” he gasped.

“Jim, you have to talk to me. We’ve talked about how we need to improve our communication. I don’t want to sound harsh, but we both know you’re the one with the most work to do. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“You’re suffocating me.”