Tuesday Morning Joseph

Sunlight, pouring in already for a few hours through the tattered old wooden window frame, meets his face as he rolls over onto his left side, and his eyes open slowly.  A milky white haze swirls into the rectangular shape of the window and he turns away from it back over to his right, looking for the girl whose name escapes him.  She’s not there.

Chest down on the bed now, face implanted in a pillow, he rubs his temples and thinks about how the night ended.  His head hurts but it’s nothing severe and he’s used to waking up this way.  Dry mouth demanding of water forces his legs up and over the side of the bed so his feet touch the area rug covering his room’s refinished hard pine floors.  Slight dizziness, lightheadedness as he stands, vision slowly becoming clearer; he opens his door and waddles to the right and then the left around a corner and into the open kitchen of his two bedroom apartment, his roommate no doubt still asleep.

Shirt off, boxers barely on, he looks himself over, feeling his abdominal muscles to be sure they’re still there, concerned he’ll eventually awake one morning to a gut, considering the amount he drinks, sure the development of said gut is not some gradual process but rather an overnight occurrence when he’s had too much to drink, or perhaps somehow he’ll fail to notice it growing until it’s too late, though he checks for it each morning habitually.  He holds out his arms, elbows bent, and looks at the tattoo sleeves on each, the vine-like designs woven around various images, settling his eyes on the approximately two inch by three inch portrait of Yoda.  The girl last night complimented him on the likeness of Yoda, surprising him because typically women laugh at the little green Jedi’s face and, if anything, make fun of him for it.  The girl last night thought it was cool.  He opens the fridge and takes out a pitcher of filtered water and pours himself a pint, drinking it all down and then refilling the glass.

He carries a full glass of water back to his room and takes another long swig and then places it on his cherry wood end table, purchased on Craigs List like the rest of his furniture.  Crawling back into bed, now he’s sure the girl did not accompany him to his apartment after he shut down the bar, but he cannot remember why not.

4 comments:

  1. felt like I was there...because i have been there...especially the pint glass of cold water followed by crawling back into bed.

    if not for my darth vador tatoo i would have thought that I was Joseph!

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  2. Great piece of writing. I loved the way you described the room, and I especially enjoyed waking up through Joseph's alcohol impaired eyes! I can't wait to read the next one!

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  3. A gut is a man's best friend - stout, reliable, always clamoring for more. I like the concept of this blog. A spoonful every other Monday does a body good.

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