The afternoon was aqueous and stifling. A heavy humidity. A heavy waiting.
She wrote the words down carefully, slowly on an old college-ruled
notebook leftover from classes. An abstract butterfly graced the cover,
and the subjects of her classes had been written, then marked out and
written three times. She was frugal. She worked on preparing
breakfast-though it was mid-afternoon. Breakfast, for her, was always
the first meal of the day no matter the time. She may have cereal or
scrambled eggs in the middle of the night. Her thoughts were traveling
in hypersonic speed.
She was developing a repugnance for the
world. Everything an irritant, a bother, a mindless chore. Each day a
dark wave crashing into her again and again and again. Each day the
same, the same, the same. She heard that hell is repetition, and she
believes it. She felt like screaming. The pressure building up like a
slow cooker. The constant ebb and flow of the cicada drone outside was
grating on her nerves.
Looking through the slanted slits of her
window blinds, she saw the wind moving the trees. As she watched, the
breeze picked up and the trees waved and danced for her. Nothing moved
her. She smelled the waffles cooking, with the necessary touch of
cinnamon she loved. She noticed the waffles turned out better if she
left the room; left them alone to do their thing. She rubbed the tears
from her eyes with two fingers, then took the bottom of her black
t-shirt to wipe her eyes and nose just beginning to run. Sometimes pain
and sadness remain no matter what you do. She watched her cream-colored
cat begin to bathe itself. She knew if she touched her or extended her
hand, the cat would begin to purr. She let the tears run down her face,
and got up to take out the waffles. As she took the second batch of
waffles from the machine, she heard the first heavy drops of rain hit
the tin roof above her patio. The drops brightened her up considerably.
With rain, the insects would stop the constant mindless droning. Rain
would cool the heat of the day, soothe her mind. Unfortunately the rain
stopped with no promise of more to come. The mercy of the rain hadn’t
dried alone.