The sun filters through the blinds of the windows, showering her with warmth and the potential for the new day. Her mind slowly picks up on sounds of children laughing and playing outside of her window. A particular voice outside ignites the burst of energy inside of her: his voice. Her best friend. She jolts out of the bindings of her bed, running towards the door. She has one goal, and it is the only goal on her mind: play. However, the world seems to have other plans for her. Grasping the doorknob, she pulls the door open to her potential pathway to freedom…only to run into the foreboding obstacle in her path. The roadblock in the middle of her road. The conflict in the middle of her story. The dragon blocking her path to the princess. Her mother. Cursing her bad luck–without actually cursing, considering she is a child, after all–she heeds her mother’s complaints and heads to the bathroom to begin her day the “right way” by brushing her teeth. Grumbling, she harshly scrubs her teeth with the bristles, glaring at her cruel mother leaning on the doorway. It’s so unfair! She has better things to do this summer than wasting her time brushing her teeth. It’s not like he would care about bad breath. She just wants to play.
The crunching of dry leaves under harsh steps outside jarres her from her slumber. Yawning, she sits up to stretch and lazily admires the multitude of colors in the trees outside her window. She smacks her lips and grimaces at the awful taste in her mouth. Morning breath. Ugh. Suddenly, her calm persona vanishes and her eyes widen in panic as they make contact with her clock: the same traitorous clock that didn’t bother to wake her up in time. Her best friend would be here in his new car to pick her up at any minute! Scrambling out of bed, she rushes immediately to her bathroom to brush her teeth. There was no way that she could answer the door and talk to him with bad breath! Absolutely not. No way. She does have some dignity, after all.
Her eyes flutter open when the brightness of the snow outside gets to be too much. She fidgets under the warmth and safety of their shared blankets and turns to face her sleeping best friend: the best friend who she can now call her husband. “Husband.” She can still hardly believe the word, and it has been five years. Five magical years; so magical, in fact, that she keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. Life could never be this kind to her, could it? Well, maybe it could. She smiles to herself as she admires the contours of his face, his delicate lashes which have always been unfairly long, and the constellations of freckles on his nose: the same nose that is scrunching up, a tell-tale sign that he is about to wake up as well. Before he can open his eyes, she quietly gets out of bed and rushes to the bathroom to brush her teeth. It doesn’t matter that it has been five years of marriage. No one wants to kiss someone with morning breath. Gross. As long as she has someone to kiss, she is going to respect that.
The barrage of rain beating on her window jerks her awake. She rubs the remaining mascara off of her eyes (albeit minor, considering she cried most of it off last night after losing herself in that bottle of scotch), sniffling as she looks out towards the gloomy skies that seem to act as a symbol for the desolate and pathetic excuse her life has become. She looks down at the ring that is still on her hand (the one she can’t bring herself to take off just yet) and sorrowfully looks towards the empty space that takes up what used to be his side of the bed. A.H. After Him. It still hurts. Tears falling delicately from her lashes, she burrows back into the comfort of her bed–her bed now, not theirs–as the sky outside weeps alongside her. She has no motivation to get out of bed and begin her day. Her day without him. She has no one to wake up with and no one to brush her teeth for anymore. The only thing she will be kissing in the near future is her happy future goodbye.
