I open my eyes as my alarm clock goes off. I let it ring for a while before I finally decide to lazily reach over and hit the off button. Then it’s quiet again. It’s time for another day. I reach toward her side of the bed. All I feel are empty sheets.
The loneliness continues today, as it has for the past nine months.Today is no different. I tell myself she’s just waiting for me in the living room waiting for me to wake up. But she never woke up as early as I did. She’s waiting for me. But not here.
There’s a picture of us next to the alarm clock. I gaze at it for a little while before I decide to get up and bear through the day. It’s what I need to do every day now. It’s a picture of us in Paris. We’re in front of the Notre Dame Cathedral. It was always her favorite place and she had always wanted to visit it. I pick up the frame and take a look at it for a few seconds. I smile as I look at her shining smile. I turn the frame around. In her hand writing it’s inscribed ’Brett and I. Honeymoon 2013.’ I replace the picture on the end table.
My room is darker than usual today. There’s usually a flicker of sunlight at 6am. I get up and look out the window. Dark clouds loom overhead. The float in the sky, awaiting where the day will take them.
After showering I head down my hallway, which is also adorned with more images of us. As I walk into the kitchen to get the coffee going, I feel the familiar comfort of my cat Sam as he brushes the left side of his body against my calf. I reach down and tap him on his orange head a few times until he begins to meow at me, signifying it’s time for me to feed him. After serving him some canned cat food I pour myself a cup of coffee and begin the slow process of waking up.
Sam can annoy me with his constant meowing at times, but I can safely say he’s the one thing that’s been keeping me sane for the last three months since I found him dining on leftover chicken bones outside in the dumpster. Since then he’s been my roommate. For better or worse, he’s been 90% of my social life.
While Sam finishes up with his breakfast, I sit back in my recliner and relax my eyes for what feels like a few minutes. I open my eyes and take a sip of my coffee, and its cold. I look up at the clock and realize I’m already eight minutes late to the office and I haven’t even showered yet. As quick as I can I throw on some dress clothes while I hop into my Honda and floor it to the office.
I run through the front door and rush to the sales floor. Susie, the receptionist, makes a gesture towards me as I speed by her. A few of my coworkers make eye contact with me as I fly by them but none of us make any effort to communicate. I look around the corner of my cuticle and see my supervisor Mr. Dalen Ross seated in my chair. I gulp, and prepare for his anger.
“Comfy, isn’t it?”. I gesture at my seat.
“You’re late, Mr. Reckard”, he says to me, getting up from my seat. He’s almost six inches taller than me, but it’s his booming voice and stern attitude which intimidates me. “We can’t allow this to become a habit.”
“It won’t.”
Ross sighs and puts his hand on my shoulder. “You forgot to shave. We’re supposed to be presentable, you know that.”
“Well I was trying to be here on time”, I reply weakly.
Ross sighs again and removes his hand. He now brings his own hands up to his face and massages his temples.
“Up until last quarter you were my number one salesman.”
I just nod.
“I know you can do better than this. You’re late almost twice a week now. You haven’t made a decent sale in almost a month.”
I just nod again. I do this out of respect but also because I’m still half asleep.
“You’ve got so much potential in this company Brett. You’re the salesman I’ve got and we both know it. But you need to give me something, anything, so that I don’t need to let you go. The guys upstairs have ceased to understand why I keep a guy around that barely makes more money for us than we put into him. I can’t stall them forever.”
“I know”, I acknowledge. “Believe me, I know you’ve been sticking your neck out for me”.
Ross smiles warmly and breaks eye contact. “Just get me something by the end of the week. Give me a reason to keep you. I know you’re valuable. You were breaking sales records left and right last year. I need you to become the salesman I know you are. We’ve got three wholesalers for you to make contact with this week. I know you’ll make me proud Brett.”
“They’ll be ours, I promise”, I say with attempted confidence. If I don’t make a promise I’ll be fired anyway.
Ross taps me a few times on my shoulder. In his mind he must have found this gesture inspirational. Ross may be an intimidating boss, but he’s respects me. For a time I truly was his number one. He hasn’t forgotten this.
Ross turns to look at the picture of my wife and I on my desk. This isn’t the same one as in our bedroom. This is just a casual picture we had taken of us in our living room on a day my wife deemed we both looked particularly attractive. I always found it absurd when she would say something like that. She was beautiful every day.
Ross picks up the picture of us and immediately I tense up. Ross looks at the picture for about and second. He frowns, and then looks me in the eyes again.
“I know it’s been hard the past few months for you, Brett”, Ross says.
I don’t say anything, and just wait for the pep talk to pass. It’s just another one to add to the dozens I’ve received from friends and family since my life took a left turn.
“I know you’re doing your best to cope Brett. I understand that this must be truly hard for you. But you have to move on.”
My blood begins to boil at that statement. As if I haven’t heard it a hundred times.
“It’s been six mon-”
“Eight”, I correct. “Almost nine, actually”.
“Eight months”, he continues. “But you have to move on Brett. I know you can do this.”
I can’t hold it in any longer. “Mr. Ross”.
“Yes?”, he smiles.
“In all honesty, I don’t think you understand in the slightest bit of how I feel.”
Ross frowns and puts the frame back onto my desk, but not in the correct place that it was. “Get me a deal by the end of the week, Mr. Reckard”. Ross brushes by me as he marches down the hallway to his office.
I take a seat at my desk and put my face into my hands. I look up and reposition the picture back to the original placement. Reluctantly I pick up the phone and start making the days’ calls. The day stretches on for a lifetime. I once approached every day at the office with enthusiasm. Now, my attention constantly dwindles as I count the minutes until it’s time to clock out.
I make it back home around 6pm. It has begun to rain outside. I hustle into my apartment building as fast as I can but I’m already drenched by the time I’m in. I open the door to my apartment and I’m greeted by Sam meowing at me again.
“Hungry?”, I ask.
He meows at me in return. I opt for the dry cat food and give him a scoop. I already know that I’ll vomit upon getting another whiff of wet cat food. Sam looks up at me in confusion as he hasn’t doesn’t receive his favorite meal.
“Deal with it”, I say sternly as I open the fridge. “Or starve. I don’t care bud, suck it up”. I pull out a Hurricane malt liquor from the fridge. I haven’t even sat down as I begin to down it. Before I know it I’m two thirds of the way down the 40oz bottle. Then I’m two thirds of the way down my second bottle. And finally, as I finish the third bottle I can safely say I’m shitfaced.
My eyesight begins to move in a drunken rhythm as I reach my desired euphoria. I get up and make my way to my cell phone which is sitting on the table in the dining room. I begin to hobble over in that general direction and begin to trip over all the junk that has accumulated in the house since she left me. The apartment has become a mess since I’ve been alone, coupled with the fact that I have had this nasty habit of getting blackout drunk every night.
Again, I trip over more junk on my way to the table. One of the softer objects I kick makes a sneer as I push it out of the way. I’m far too drunk to look down at my feet to know for certain, but I can safely assume Sam would be angry with me for the rest of the night. Finally, I make it over to the kitchen table and take a seat. I find some Chinese food left on a plate that has likely been there since before last weekend, and I begin to chow down on the cold, oddly textured meal in front of me.
After satisfying my drunk munchies I begin my drunk routine. I pick up my cell phone off the table and scroll through my contacts until I pass the B section and find Camila. I hit call. It goes straight to voicemail.
“Hey”, she begins. “This is Camila Reckard. I’m either busy, or I don’t really feel like getting to the phone right now”. She says it in a lighthearted way that I can’t help but smile upon hearing it. “Either way, feel free to leave me a message or a text and I’d be happy to get back to you!” Her voice is perfect. She has the perfect pitch and rhythm with every word that leaves her lips.
I always start my drunk routine with her voicemail greeting. It’s basic, and it’s meant for everyone to hear. I save the more personal ones for after. I very much enjoy working my way towards the better, more personal recordings of her voice. Now I decide to pull up an old message she left me. I believe I was working late that night and I had forgotten to let her know. I hit play on the voicemail menu and put the phone up to my ear.
“Brett? I’m just sitting here waiting. Have you forgotten about our plans? Game of Thrones has already started, but I’ll wait until the next showing so we can watch it together. I take it you’re out with the guys? Or working late? It’s okay. There’s dinner in the microwave. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight”
This one gets to me. I have no valid reason why I listen to that one. Her voice isn’t angry, but she’s certainly disappointed. I choose to listen to it though because I don’t have many recordings from her that were directly for me. I usually deleted them after hearing like everyone else, but for some reason I hadn’t deleted that one.
I decide to pull up a video for the next one. This time, a happy occasion we shared with each other.
The video begins and it’s shaking all over the place. Evidently, I’m no photographer. The video begins looking down at snow. We were on a road trip through the mountains and we made a quick stop to enjoy the scenery. The video now records the trees and the accumulated snow that had set within the branches. It then comes down to show an angel. There’s Camila, smiling at me. The smile is awkward because she has a camera aimed at her face. But she’s gorgeous nonetheless. Her flawless teeth are uncovered as her smile widens. Her cute and youthful laugh lines begin to show as she grins. She’s wearing a beanie with a puff ball on top but her long brown hair is still visible as it drapes over her shoulders. The lighting is perfect as it reflects off the snow under our boots. Her hazel eyes look right at me as I watch the video play. She begins to cover her face, and I tell her to show me. Her face emerges again and we begin to reflect on the beautiful surroundings. She tells me she never wants to leave, and proposes that we should come back next year. Only there won’t be another chance for us to come back.
“I love you”, I hear myself say.
She reciprocates by giving off a warm smile. The camera catches her caressing her abdomen, providing comfort to our precious cargo.
I pause the video. I begin to feel the hot tears drip down my reddened cheeks as my drunk emotions get the best of me. I watch the rest of the video, which includes me following her around the trees as we tread through snow.
“Well”, I say in the video. “Go on.”
Again she’s nervous. But she toughs it out and clears her throat. She begins to sing. It’s a song she’s written herself. She makes eye contact with the camera as she beautifully recites her song.
As I make my way to you
I know that I’ll always be by your side
She hits the notes perfectly and with ease. It’s no wonder she once made a living as a subway performer in New York City. Her voice is like ecstasy to me, and the video recording does it no justice at all. After going through to the chorus three times, she wraps up the final line of her song.
When I look into your eyes
I realize I have everything I’ll ever need
I never want to be away from you
even in my dreams
The video video ends with Camila lobbing a surprise snowball my way. The camera doesn’t catch it but I remember her nailing me right in the temple with a perfect throw. She realized I was too distracted with her recent performance and decided to make me pay for it. I drop the camera into the white powder. The video cuts off to the sounds of our laughter as the snowball fight ensues
Finally I come to the last voice message I replay on my drunken nights. I know that if I play this my emotions will get the better of me. Any reasonable person wouldn’t play it if they knew how they’d feel afterward, but I find it impossible to resist. I know it’s another voice message she left me.
I remember where I was when I got this message. I was out with my two best friends celebrating Joe’s birthday. They all wanted me there at the bar, and I figured Camila would be alright if I didn’t answer this one time. I wasn’t going to be home too late. She’d be fine for a few hours. I remember pulling my phone out and silencing the call before going back to taking shots with Joe and David. Only later would I find out that not taking this call would become the biggest regret of my life.
Now I stare at the message. I’m tempted to play it. I’m tempted to hear her voice in disappointment. Her disappointment in my neglect to answer the phone. She tells me she needs me. If only I’d have known. If I would have answered I’d have left the celebration on the spot and I would have raced to her as fast as I could. But I never pick up. Instead of the comfort of her husband, she is only greeted by the hollow recording of my voicemail.
I’ve always asked why I torture myself by listening to that message again. I’ve never had a clear answer. I just tell myself I owe it to her to remind myself where I failed her.
I’m about to hit play when Sam jumps onto the table and knocks one of my empty Hurricane bottles off the table and it shatters onto the floor. I swat Sam off the table and look at the mess below me. My vision is swaying left and right as I look at the shards of glass that will need to be picked up when I sober up tomorrow. I forget to play the voicemail. Instead I stumble over to the couch and shut my eyes. I descend into an empty dreamless sleep.
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