Monday
She woke with déjà vu, as if she’d been dreaming about waking, and then lay there staring at the ceiling for a minute before managing to climb out from the covers. In the bathroom she emptied her bladder, brushed her teeth, and took some aspirin for her headache. In the kitchen she replaced yesterday’s filter with a fresh one, scooped coffee into it, filled the water reservoir, then turned on the pot. The red-orange glow indicating the thing was on only increased her anticipation of that first cup.
While the coffee brewed, Maddy walked into the living room, past the chair, glancing at the clock on the cable box once to see it was now 8:18, then went to the front window and stared outside. The sight promised a warm May day, and she contemplated a walk before changing her mind; going out would mean getting dressed, and Maddy was perfectly fine in her pj’s, thank you.
She stood there and watched the woman across the street, whose name she’d never bothered to learn, pull her ugly orange Mustang back into her driveway after dropping her two kids off at school, get out still looking half-asleep, and trudge into her house. Maddy had never bothered to learn the woman’s name because when they moved in, for about the first month, the woman’s husband used to come home from work at night and park his truck in front of Maddy’s house. Maddy had her own driveway, but it was the principle. She’d hated them right away. That was last year, and the man hadn’t parked there since, but that first impression had tainted Maddy’s opinion.
In the kitchen, the coffee gurgled, telling her it was done brewing and ready for drinking, so she turned and headed back to make that first cup.
Maddy’s sugar and powdered creamer were kept in similar-looking plastic containers and she had a habit of telling which was which with a shake. The creamer was silent while the sugar sounded like maracas. A hearty sprinkle of creamer and four scoops of sugar, a stir, five times clockwise, five times counterclockwise with three delicate taps of the spoon on the edge of the mug. The spoon went to the ceramic cradle beside the coffee pot and Maddy grabbed her cup and went into the spare bedroom where her computer monitor displayed a series of interweaving designs in various colors until she sat down and nudged the mouse to deactivate the screensaver.
Four new emails awaited her, including a notice she had accrued $5 in Borders Bucks from the book store, and a “get-to-know-me” survey from her friend Anna, which Anna should know very well Maddy was not going to fill out–and scrolling down to the line which read “Which of my friends is least likely to respond,” Anna had entered Maddy’s name.
“Good thinking,” Maddy said out loud.
But she perused Anna’s answers, then the list of other addressees to whom Anna had sent this particular email, always curious about the outside ties people form from their core group.
She sipped her coffee, then, as it cooled, took bigger gulps until the cup was empty. As she stood from the chair, she noticed her desk calendar. Monday. Déjà vu again, but it was only her dream resurfacing for a moment to remind her and suddenly Maddy felt very uneasy, but couldn’t pin down what it was that caused the feeling in the first place. That déjà vu, that dream. Whatever it had been.
Like it matters now anyway, she thought, and realized that was right. Whatever caused that feeling, it was a moot point at this juncture.
She put the cup in the sink, then turned off the pot, always wary of a stray spark setting the house ablaze, but didn’t bother dumping out the remains she hadn’t drank, and got a glass of water.
She had a bottle of pills in her purse, and now she took these out, dumped the contents onto the coffee table, and counted. Twenty.
She tried to swallow three at a time, but that was too much. She settled on swallowing two at a time until they were all gone. Then she set the near-empty water glass back on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, staring out the front window. She had no idea how long it would be, but it was a beautiful May day. The clock on the cable box told her it was 9:02. Outside the sun sent down brilliant orange rays and the grass had never looked greener, she thought. Soon she found her eyes heavy, her chest thick, and it was a little harder to draw the next breath. She slumped over, groggy, wondering what day it was and how long she’d slept. Then her eyes closed and she fell over.
* * *
She woke with déjà vu, as if she’d been dreaming about waking, and then lay there staring at the ceiling for a minute before managing to climb out from the covers. In the bathroom she emptied her bladder, brushed her teeth, and took some aspirin for her headache. In the kitchen she replaced yesterday’s filter with a fresh one, scooped coffee into it, filled the water reservoir, then turned on the pot. The red-orange glow indicating the thing was on only increased her anticipation of that first cup.
While the coffee brewed, Maddy walked into the living room, glanced at the clock on the cable box to see it was 8:18, then went to the front window and stared outside. She contemplated a walk on this warm May day before changing her mind. She had other plans today, plans a walk would only delay–but not alter–and for that, her pj’s were perfectly fine, thank you.
She watched the woman across the street pull her ugly orange Mustang back into her driveway after dropping her two kids off at school, get out still looking half-asleep, and trudge into her house. She’d always hated the people across the street, them and their stupid cars.
In the kitchen, the coffee gurgled, telling her it was done brewing and ready for drinking, so she headed back to make that first cup.
She picked up one of the plastic containers in which she kept the sugar and creamer, shook it and heard that familiar rattle, like maracas.
Four scoops of sugar, and a liberal sprinkle of creamer, then a stir, five times clockwise, five times counterclockwise with three delicate taps of the spoon on the edge of the mug. The spoon went to the ceramic cradle beside the coffee pot and Maddy grabbed her cup and went into the spare bedroom where her computer monitor displayed a series of interweaving designs in various colors until she sat down and nudged the mouse to deactivate the screensaver.
Four new emails awaited her, including a notice she had accrued $5 in Borders Bucks from the book store, and a “get-to-know-me” survey from her friend Anna. She perused Anna’s answers, then the list of other addressees to whom Anna had sent this particular email.
She rarely filled these out, the whole process of copy and paste just seemed more hassle than it was worth considering no one probably even read these things. But today was different, wasn’t it? So she took the extra time and copied and pasted the contents into a new email, and as she worked through the questions, deleting Anna’s answers and replacing them all with the same notice, “Today, I took a bottle of sleeping pills and if you’ve bothered to read this at all, I’m already dead.”
She sipped her coffee, then, as it cooled, took bigger gulps until the cup was empty. As she stood from the chair, she noticed her desk calendar. Monday. She’d torn off the previous sheet the night before. It was a habit. She contemplated tearing off today’s sheet as well, and then thought, “What for? There’s no tomorrow for me.” Déjà vu again, and suddenly Maddy felt very uneasy, but couldn’t pin down what it was that caused the feeling in the first place. That dream. Whatever it had been.
She left the computer on, the email program opened, so whoever came in and cleaned up wouldn’t have to mess with passwords or anything. She was only trying to make things easier for whoever was elected to go through her personal effects.
She went to the kitchen, put the coffee cup in the sink, then turned off the pot, and got a glass of water.
She dumped the pills onto the coffee table and counted. Twenty.
She swallowed two at a time until they were gone. Then she set the glass on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, staring out the front window. She had no idea how long it would be, but it was a beautiful May day. The clock on the cable box told her it was 8:59. Outside the sun sent down brilliant orange rays and the grass had never looked greener. Heavy eyes, a thick chest, and it was a little harder to draw the next breath. She slumped over, groggy, wondering what day it was and how long she’d slept. Then her eyes closed and she fell over.
* * *
She woke with déjà vu, as if she’d been dreaming about waking, and then lay there staring at the ceiling for a minute before managing to climb out from the covers. In the bathroom she emptied her bladder, brushed her teeth, took some aspirin for her headache, then stood crying over the sink for what must have been hours. She couldn’t say why, only that something inside her was tighter than usual, something wasn’t simply gnawing at her, it was taking giant bites, it was gorging on her and her stomach felt empty, but somehow heavy with it. When she finally calmed down, she went to the kitchen where she replaced yesterday’s filter with a fresh one, scooped coffee into it, filled the water reservoir, then turned on the pot. The red-orange glow indicating the thing was on only increased her anticipation of that first cup.
While the coffee brewed, Maddy walked into the living room, glanced at the clock on the cable box to see it was 8:20, then went to the front window and stared outside.
She watched the woman across the street pull her ugly orange Mustang back into her driveway, then trudge into her house.
In the kitchen, the coffee gurgled, telling her it was done brewing and ready for drinking, so she headed back to make that first cup.
Four scoops of sugar, and a liberal sprinkle of creamer, then a stir, five times clockwise, five times counterclockwise with three delicate taps of the spoon on the edge of the mug. The spoon went to the ceramic cradle beside the coffee pot and Maddy was gripped once again by déjà vu, this time so intense it sent a shiver through her. She caught her breath, trying to think what was it that ate at her so. She stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, trying to snatch that fleeting thought, but it was gone again, so she went into the spare bedroom.
She nudged the mouse to deactivate the screensaver, then checked her email.
Four messages awaited her, but she deleted them unread.
Instead, she sat at her desk, sipping her coffee and staring at her desk calendar. Monday. She’d torn off the previous sheet the night before. It was a habit her mother’d gotten her into. Maddy’s grandmother had died in her sleep when Maddy was only ten and for the longest time she couldn’t sleep at night for fear she’d die. Then her mother started marking off the days on Maddy’s Garfield calendar the night before, telling her, “See? Tomorrow’s already waiting for you.” It was a superstition she’d never been able to break. She contemplated tearing off today’s sheet as well, and then thought, “What for? There’s no tomorrow for me.” Déjà vu again, and suddenly Maddy felt again like crying. What was wrong? That dream. Whatever it had been.
She left the computer on, the email program opened, and went to the kitchen, put the coffee cup in the sink, then turned off the pot, and got a glass of water.
As another wave of déjà vu swept over her she dumped the pills onto the coffee table and counted. Twenty.
She swallowed two at a time until they were gone, then set the glass on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, staring out the front window. She had no idea how long it would be, but it was a beautiful May day. The clock on the cable box told her it was 9:05. Outside the sun sent down brilliant orange rays and the grass had never looked greener. Heavy eyes, a thick chest, and it was a little harder to draw the next breath. She slumped over, groggy, wondering what day it was and how long she’d slept. Then her eyes closed and she fell over.
* * *
She woke with déjà vu, as if she’d been dreaming about waking, and then lay there staring at the ceiling for a minute before managing to climb out from the covers. In the bathroom she emptied her bladder, brushed her teeth.
In the kitchen she replaced yesterday’s filter with a fresh one, scooped coffee into it, filled the water reservoir, then turned on the pot.
While the coffee brewed, Maddy walked into the living room, glanced at the clock on the cable box to see it was 8:15, then went to the front window and stared outside.
She watched the woman across the street pull her ugly orange Mustang back into her driveway, then trudge into her house. All the while, since first setting foot on the bedroom floor as she climbed out of bed, Maddy’d felt a tugging in her chest, a pit in her gut. Something was very wrong today and, even considering what she’d planned for this day, there was something else. She felt it hammering at the back of her skull, this repetitious cycle of déjà vu over and over and over, and as the woman with the kids and the jackass husband unlocked her door and slipped into her perfect little house, Maddy tried to dissect this feeling. Her routine was normal, so naturally she’d feel that sensation of having done it before, but it was more than that. Something was wrong.
In the kitchen, the coffee gurgled, telling her it was done brewing and ready for drinking, so she headed back to make that first cup.
Creamer, sugar, stir, tap. Spoon in the ceramic cradle beside the coffee pot. That déjà vu seized her and all she could think was, “I have to follow this through, what’s the outcome? Good? Bad?” She shivered, then caught her breath, frozen in the middle of the kitchen, trying to snatch that fleeting thought, but it was gone again, so she went into the spare bedroom.
Déjà vu as she nudged the mouse to deactivate the screensaver, then checked her email.
Four messages awaited her, but she deleted them unread.
Déjà vu as she sipped her coffee and stared at her desk calendar. Monday. She’d torn off the previous sheet the night before. It was a habit. She contemplated tearing off today’s sheet as well.
Déjà vu as she left the email opened, and went to the kitchen. Cup in the sink, coffee pot off, got a glass of water and now she was crying.
Déjà vu as she dumped the pills onto the coffee table and counted. Twenty.
Déjà vu as she swallowed two at a time until they were gone, then set the glass on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, staring out the front window. She had no idea how long it would be, but it was a beautiful May day. The clock on the cable box told her it was 9:00. Outside the sun sent down brilliant orange rays and the grass had never looked greener. Heavy eyes, a thick chest, and it was a little harder to draw the next breath. She slumped over, groggy, wondering what day it was and how long she’d slept. Then her eyes closed and she fell over.
* * *
She woke with déjà vu, as if she’d been dreaming about waking, and then lay there staring at the ceiling for a minute before managing to climb out from the covers. In the bathroom she emptied her bladder, brushed her teeth.
In the kitchen she replaced yesterday’s filter with a fresh one, scooped coffee into it, filled the water reservoir, then turned on the pot.
While the coffee brewed, Maddy walked into the living room, glanced at the clock on the cable box to see it was 8:15, then went to the front window and stared outside.
She watched the woman across the street pull her ugly orange Mustang back into her driveway, then trudge into her house. Since setting foot on the bedroom floor as she climbed out of bed, Maddy’d felt a tugging in her chest, a pit in her gut. Something was very wrong today and, even considering what she’d planned, there was something else. She felt it hammering at the back of her skull, this repetitious cycle of déjà vu over and over and over, and as the woman with the kids and the jackass husband unlocked her door and slipped into her perfect little house, Maddy tried to dissect this feeling. Her routine was normal, so naturally she’d feel that sensation of having done it before, but it was more than that. Something was wrong.
Déjà vu as the coffee gurgled, telling her it was done brewing and ready for drinking. She headed back to make that first cup.
Creamer, sugar, stir, tap. Spoon in the ceramic cradle beside the coffee pot. That déjà vu seized her and all she could think was, “I have to follow this through, what’s the outcome? Good? Bad?” She shivered, then caught her breath, frozen in the middle of the kitchen, trying to snatch that fleeting thought, but it was gone again.
“Have to break the pattern,” she thought. “Whatever the déjà vu is, have to break it.”
In the spare bedroom, déjà vu as she nudged the mouse to deactivate the screensaver, then checked her email.
Four messages awaited her, but she deleted them unread.
Déjà vu as she sipped her coffee and stared at her desk calendar. Monday. She’d torn off the previous sheet the night before. It was a habit. Maddy’s grandmother had died in her sleep when Maddy was only ten and for the longest time she couldn’t sleep at night for fear she’d die, too. Then her mother started marking off the days on Maddy’s Garfield calendar the night before, telling her, “See? Tomorrow’s already waiting for you.” It was a superstition she’d never been able to break. She tore off Monday and stared at Tuesday, even though she knew she’d never see it.
She left the email opened, and went to the kitchen. She put the cup in the sink, then turned off the pot, always wary of a stray spark setting the house ablaze, but didn’t bother dumping out the remains, and got a glass of water.
She had a bottle of pills in her purse, and now she took these out, dumped the contents onto the coffee table, and counted. Twenty.
She tried to swallow three at a time, but that was too much. She settled on swallowing two at a time until they were all gone. Then she set the near-empty water glass back on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, staring out the front window. She had no idea how long it would be, but it was a beautiful May day. The clock on the cable box told her it was 9:09. Outside the sun sent down brilliant orange rays and the grass had never looked greener, she thought. Soon she found her eyes heavy, her chest thick, and it was a little harder to draw the next breath. She slumped over, groggy, wondering what day it was and how long she’d slept. Then her eyes closed and she fell over.
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C. Dennis Moore has published over 60 stories in the speculative fiction genre, most recently in Death Rattle and The Horror Zine. Coming up, my novella “Epoch Winter” is scheduled to be published by Drollerie Press.
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