| He's a middle-aged man. There's still bits and pieces of his past life left. The brown in his hair, now mixed with gray. The young body slowly being torn down by too few meals and too many late hours. There's a plain gold ring that's always on his left hand though. Stuck on his ring finger since stress makes his hands too swollen to ever remove it. It's seven o'clock Thursday night and he comes in through the front door of the perfect American home. The ones with a foyer and a room to the side that no one is ever allowed into. He puts down his shiny black briefcase and hangs his keys on a rack that was placed on the wall to keep the house "more organized." He stretches and moans as something in his back decides to crack and send shooting pain up his neck. "Damned chair at the office." He heads into the dining room and takes his spot at the head of the table, the side nearest to the window because she can't stand the idea of someone coming up behind her at any point. He toes off his worn loafers underneath the table, careful to keep the nearby because he knows that she would disapprove of shoeless feet near food. He sighs. She comes in and sets the plate of food on his placemat. A tiny portion of salad and a piece of what looks like fish but isn't big enough to actually tell. Could be pork. He picks up a fork and pokes it as she goes back into the kitchen to get the drinks. Chicken maybe? She comes back and puts down a glass of juice. She's been watching too many health shows. She takes the spot across from him at the other end of the table. "Go on and eat honey, it's turkey." He bends his head to hide the smile that crosses his face. What follows is the same bland talk about work, about home, about the neighbors, and about the co-workers. He chews as he listen absently, thinking about the new assistant at work. Dinner is completed and the plates are taken away. He slips his feet back into his shoes and heads up the stairs, dragging his hand against the railing. He stops in the doorway of the bedroom and eyes the bed warily. "You're going to bed already?" He jumps a little, startled by her voice behind him. "Yeah...yeah, I'm a bit tired." She smiles and puts a warm little hand on his back and steps on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Ok, I'm going to be downstairs reading then." They had stopped going to bed at the same time four years ago. He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt. He looks down at the carpet under his shoes. Pristine white. Just like her. He tosses his shirt onto the chair and rests the tie nearby. His pants are next, neatly folded even though they would be washed the next morning after he leaves for work. His shoes are put uniformly under the chair, side by side and he goes to bed. It's six a.m. And the alarm on the clock hasn't been changed in seven years. There's never been the need. She's next to him, resting away from him with her hands tucked under her cheeks and the ceiling fan blowing wisps of black hair into and out of her face. He leans over and presses a kiss to her temple and then slides out of bed. A set of clean and freshly pressed clothes resting where his old ones had been the night before. Perfectly coordinated. He takes his shower. He shaves and touches his cheek while he watches his reflection do the same. He arches an eyebrow and tries for that smug smile he used to use when he was younger to get the girls. Now he looks like a lecherous old man. He tugs at the hairs on his chest and watches his hands. And the shine of the ring on his left hand makes him snort in disgust. He dresses and heads downstairs, picking up a browning banana before grabbing his briefcase and leaving. The drive to the office is the same and he swears that he sees that same SUV every morning. He wonders if the people in the cars that see him wonder where he's going and if they'll ever see the same car that he drives again. Probably not. He parks in his spot and leaves the banana peel in the cupholder. He grabs the briefcase in his hand and heads to the big glass doors and the shiny metallic elevator. He says hi to all the people that he needs to on the way up to his office and runs into the new assistant on the way to his desk. "Hello, sir." And there's a secret smile behind it. He is speechless and he nods as he keeps on walking. He puts down his briefcase and sits down. "Damned chair." It squeaks as if in anger at his curse. "Oh shut up. Only I'm allowed to complain here." There are papers on his desk that need going through. There are cases to be assessed and there are numbers to be processed all before lunch time. But he'll probably skip lunch anyway. It allows him to get his work done so he won't have any to take home, that way no more questions than necessary will she have to ask. He works through the morning and at lunch politely declines the offer to head down to the local cafeteria. At noon he stands to stretch and heads to the lounge to get himself a mint to suck on. The new assistant is in there, reading Cosmopolitan and using an elegantly painted fingernail to follow the words. Absently with her other hand she pierces pieces of grilled chicken and lettuce on her fork. He pauses at the doorway, his nerves tingling. She opens her mouth, deep red with mostly likely an expensive lipstick, and chews on her food. He swallows and his left hand goes deep into his pocket. She turns the page and a sexy little smile crosses her mouth. He closes his eyes. "Oh! Hello!" He opens his eyes and smiles at her. Her eyes are green by false means. "Hi." She closes her magazine. "How come you're not with the others?" "I wanted to get my work done." She laughed, soft and beautiful. "Yes, I've noticed you spend a lot of time on your work." His left hand goes into his pocket, clutching at the lint balls in it. She looks down at the cover of her magazine, "I guess so you can have more time to spend with your wife?" He swallows. "Something like that I guess." "Would you like the rest of my salad?" "Oh...no thanks, I'm just here for...something..." She turns in her chair and throws the rest of her food away and stands. He's trying hard not to be mesmerized by her legs in their black hose and how is that shoes can make a woman's legs so remarkable? She puts a hand on her hip and smiles again. "So." He's surprised. She's making him feel like he had when he was younger. Embarassed and shy before he realized he could get a girl. Various conversations run through his head. And he picks the most neutral he could find. "So you're new here, right?" He resist the urge to slap his forehead. She turns her head to the side and there's a thick strand of hair that's been fashionably left outside of her clipped back hair that falls into her face. "That's not what you want to ask me." Oh god it feels like sixteen all over again. "I don't know what you mean..." And he wills himself to back away as she comes nearer, the heels clacking against the cheap linoleum. But he can't. He can't move. She reaches out and he almost flinches as her hand curls around his left wrist and pulls his hand out of his pocket. "Do you ever take the ring off?" "I can't." She's looks at him in a contemplative silence for what seems like too long. "Have you tried?" Her fingers pinch around the circular gold and he wishes against everything that no one will come back from lunch early. He feels like an idiot when he gasps as the ring slides off easily into her palm. She smiles up at him and up close her mouth looks like something so perfectly created. She holds up the ring, and he can see the two names inscribed on the inside. He hasn't seen those for twelve years. "Would you like me to put it back on?" And there are too many things in those few words and so he lets himself smile and he opens his mouth. "No." ****** It's two a.m. and he's sitting with his legs off to the side of the bed. Something inside him that he hadn't realized was in need for twelve years has been satisfied. He looks down at his left hand where the ring is back in it's place, having been given a break for a little more than an hour the day before. He looks over his shoulder at her, with the ceiling fan blowing wisps of black hair in and out of her face. He turns back to his hand. He wonders. He grips the ring in his fingers and pulls. He holds back the cry of shock. It gets stuck before it goes over his knuckles. The End. |
| A Break From Routine |