Sunrises And A Dusk
Six months has passed and I remained in a dead-like position in my bed. It has turned into a womb that I refused to get out of. I’m surrounded by creased blankets, pillows that have been drooled on, used tissue paper for both tears and snot, and several opened books ranging from Calvin And Hobbes to a Murakami tear-jerker.
“Seymour,” I sobbed over the phone, “Come over, please.”
“Hey, hey,” his voice soft. Seymour almost never talks to me properly, except when affected by severe cases of melancholia. A part of me danced inside whenever I was sad. “I’ll be over in a minute. Take a bath first though, Geo.”
I nodded, as if he actually saw that, and ended the call. Mucus dripped from my right nostril. I didn’t even care. I tilted my phone to see my reflection and saw what a beautiful mess I was. Minus the beautiful. I was a wreck in my own apartment. Since my family moved out and decided to stay in our hometown for good, I had the place all to myself. For three months, I was enjoying sleeping very late, making forts out of pizza boxes and popping bubble wraps until the break of dawn. Now, on my sixth month, I was back on track to Waterworksville and boy was I sprinting down its road.
There were three gentle knocks on the door. Who am I kidding. Of course Seymour doesn’t knock. I gave him my spare key weeks ago, incase “I didn’t answer your calls because I was already dead from not breathing through my nose.” His expression was unchanged and unamused. Instead, he gave me a slap on the back of my head before taking the key.
“This is not an apartment of a woman.” Seymour cringed, dodging piles of laundry on the floor. He went straight to the kitchen. I heard some swearing. It must have been his reaction towards the pile of unwashed utensils by the broken sink. I yelled an apologetical one. He reappeared in the living room, picking up the dirty clothes on the floor with a tong and placing them inside a big plastic bag.
“Thank you Seym!” I blew my nose. I took another tissue, rolled the used one inside it and aimed at the bin. I missed. Seymour gagged.
“You are a godawful piece of wreckage, Geo. Seriously. Are you like this every time you go through a break-up? I hope I’m somewhere in Nicaragua when the next one happens.” The living room was still a mess but the clothes were off the floor. He went back to the kitchen. I heard some metal clinking. He was probably fixing the sink. Minutes later, I heard water running and the gentle clanking of plates.
“But the sink’s broken Seym! Did you fix it?” I started to fold my blankets on my bed after days of not doing so. I fluffed the pillows untouched by drool and took out the covers of the ones that were. I placed them inside the plastic bag.
“Yes, I did. You’re paying for this one day, Georgia Mae! Jesus, Geo. What the hell are you eating? The stuff won’t come off the plates!”
“I know you love me! So thank you!” I sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for Seymour to get over with the dishes. I took my Calvin And Hobbes compilation and started reading comics off of it. “Is Susie mad I stole you from her today?”
The water stopped running. Seymour rubbed his shoes on the kitchen rug, dried his hands on the towel that hung from the kitchen door’s handle and peeped his head through the entryway.
“We were supposed to go on a date you know.”
“I’m sorry. But best buds come first right?” I smiled. I was suddenly aware that my hair was unwashed for several days now. I think I puked a little in my mouth.
“If you keep this up, I’m definitely going to end up alone. I’m not your babysitter.” He grabbed a clean glass from the dining table and took a fill from the cooler. “I’m merely programmed to care for you because of that one time in college when you saved my sorry ass from failing a class.” Seymour sat on a stool across from the couch, looking around for more things to clean. He took a sip of water.
“Exactly,” I nodded, “And I will forever hold that against you. I’ve just been sad again you know.
“Wound still fresh huh?”
What I loved about Seymour is that he was fully aware of my progress, or lack thereof. He was there before, during and after the relationship I had with Riley. I loved how Seymour would ask how I was doing or if I wanted to talk about things, even if I knew he already memorized what it was I had to say. I was repetitive, and noisy at that. He had been away for several weeks due to a business trip. And when I found out Seymour was back in town, I gave him a call. I needed a familiar warmth to chase away the cold that has settled its nest in my apartment. It’s been six months since Riley left. I haven’t thrown away the stuff we both shared or have given to each other. Not yet. It was stowed away inside a box in the deepest corner of my closet. I think I’m going crazy but sometimes at night, I can hear it calling to me. I shared this with Seymour. He replied by saying “Aloha”. I don’t know why.
“Yes,” I replied, “Oh God. Rut, rut, rut!” Except I didn’t say “rut”. It was the “f” word.
Seymour nodded, “Rut, yes. And look at you. I can smell you from here. Guck.” He gagged again. This is how affectionate he is towards me.
“Shut up. I can do whatever the hell I want. He’s happy dating this airline chick. They’re probably doing it in every cabin they find empty. And I’m happy being a stinking mess inside my apartment until I am found dead in it.” I crossed my arms. It was a defense mechanism to humor my pains but I felt a jolt inside my heart. I know I would never be okay with things finally taking a good turn for Riley. It was unfair. Why has the sunrise found him while I’m stuck with dusk?
I think Seymour noticed that tears were welling up in my eyes. He grabbed a tissue and handed it to me. I held both my legs and placed my forehead on my knees. I was sobbing again. You are a wreck, Georgia, I thought.
“It’s okay. Maybe you’re just not ready yet. You have the progress rate of a snail. And that’s alright. Sorry, I haven’t much to say either.” He sat cross-legged on the floor, holding up a tissue box.
I nodded. I attempted to make a smile. I think it resulted in a constipated look. Grabbing a few tissues, I wiped my tears and blew my nose. My face felt hot and tired from the continuos crying. I should have been dehydrated by now. Curses.
“Watch some tv, Seym. I’m going to go freshen up and get dressed. Let’s go to the bookstore. I want to show you this new book I found.” I patted his hand. It was my way of saying thanks and appreciating my best bud ditching his date to be with a broken friend.
“Sure.” He brought out his car keys and shook it. We both beamed. His car’s fixed! Finally, we can escape the mob inside the train stations.
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