Clarity of Absence

Jon sits upon the porch speaking of the morning he awoke as he normally did to that alarm that sounds like a screaming banshee. Jon begins to formulate the thoughts in his mind and tell the story as if he was still there. Everyday before Jon left for work, he spoke to himself in his mind as motivation for the day. The discontentment had found a place in his heart and mind on this particular day he spoke with Bobby about. As his eyes open, the streaming thoughts set the stage for the scene spoken in his own words. The brightness of the day was similar to the day he left his old life.

This early morning displayed its redundancy as usual with that bird that makes this distinctive noise that he never figured out. It’s a distinctive high-pitched morning noise, but Jon never took the time to figure out the name of the bird, where it comes from, and why it does that. Should he have done that? For Jon, it’s a reminder that he never took the time to enjoy anything. The sun shines through the white blinds on to his face. He placed his hand high to block the beams of light. Those soft white high thread count sheets surround his body, feeling crisp as he turns to avoid the rays of light. The comforter that she spent so much time picking out falls to the floor. “Never liked that burgundy look anyway,” he says to himself. Bobby interrupts a moment to inquire as to “who” the “she” is that Jon refers to in the story.

“She refers to Simone, my fiancé that I left behind.”

“Wow, you left a woman behind. Isn’t that kind of cold?”

“It may seem cold but as we keep going, you may understand.

Jon refocuses his attention on the mood he was in as he awoke that morning to the same putrid life lived everyday and continues to tell the story.

As his eyes focus on the wall, he examined the art that she purchased from that over priced store where a majority of the furniture came from. Suddenly, the thoughts of why these items were so important run across his mind. Why? They were never home to enjoy them. “When was the last time we spent anytime in this room just reading a novel or skimming through the paper talking about the foolishness that is called people,” he thought to himself. Jon would always have the house to himself. The house has a strange quiet to it, especially since she already left for work. Simone was anal about being at work early to get her day going; whereas Jon knew the work would be there regardless, so he was in no rush.

The canary yellow walls bring the room to life, forcing him out of bed to prepare for work. The dryness of his feet touch upon the wood floors that she spent a huge amount of money on, but ignored on a regular basis. The piercing sound of his feet dragging across the floor seems to echo louder, as his toes crack, bending as he walked. The day is already somehow different. The thoughts of the conversation they had the night before about doing some things they used to do before the money pound on his brain, adding to an already perplexed mind. The bathroom seems miles from the bed. A few feet turn into many yards. Jon’s feet hit the cold ceramic white tile within this stoic bathroom with all the beautiful face and dry towels that can’t be used. The stainless steel towel racks and pearly white tub and shower all glisten, representing that American dream they wanted or what she wanted and he went along with. All this material is wonderful when it can be enjoyed.

The shower offers this feeling of simplicity that he misses so much in life. The water runs down his back muscles, chest and down his head as he imagines that it’s a small waterfall. He tries to keep his eyes closed and imagine a better place, but the thought of work resonates in his mind. With his back against the shower wall, his eyes are locked on the light that tries to peer through the white vinyl curtain. As a child, the sound of the water and the feeling it provided always relaxed. The simplicity of it all felt so right.

Bobby was being fed by the story as if he was snacking on a box of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and Bobby listening was feeding Jon. At that moment, Jon realized a couple of things. Jon realized that the moment he spent in the bathroom was where he decided to let it all go, and how different of a person he is because of this day. This was the pivotal moment in his life that dictated the present.

Stepping on to the burgundy plush bathroom rug, the water drips from his body, soaking the floor. Simone’s voice echoes within his mind about how he always wet the rug through to the floor; yet, he doesn’t care today. The routine followed every single day is being played out like a television sitcom as Jon continues to focus on those terrible bath towels that serve no purpose. The mirror stares back at him, saying he’s much better than this life has given. As the bath towel stays wrapped around his waist, the steam begins to cover the reflection within the mirror. It’s actually pretty symbolic that the steam covers his face and hides him as these disenchanting thoughts dominate. Those “damn towels” seem to have his attention this morning and they are killing his inner piece. Uncontrollably, Jon grabs the towels and flings them around the bathroom in a fury unmeasured by any feeling ever experienced. It’s as though those towels were the blame for everything. Simone’s voice echoes, telling him, “Don’t use my good towels!