The Things You Lose

"I'm the same as I was when I was six years old,
and oh my God I feel so damn old." -Modest Mouse, Never Ending Math Equation

Nicholas struggled with a dream he would not remember. His brow furrowed and the various other muscles that comprised the inner workings of his face twisted and contorted. His eyes slowly slid open as the idea slipped back into whatever dark pool ideas come from, and stared blankly at the ceiling as they took their leisure to focus. He swung his feet to the left and out of his white sheets. For a long time he sat with his palms over the edge of the mattress, enjoying his yet-still existence and examining the mappings on the tops of his feet.
His ankles flexed, slightly shifting the mappings as he stood up and raised his hands over his head to help wake the rest of him.
He moved into the small kitchen, very much in the stillness and pressed the button to begin brewing his coffee. He had become fond of the all-powerful, singular button that signaled the real beginning of his day. The machine had no other settings; it could not make an expresso or latte, could not be programed to start at a preplanned time. All that was fastened avove the glass pot was the chrome circle and a miniature bulb that lighted green when the chrome circle was pressed.
He heard sounds from his counterpart life back in the other room. He leaned against the counter and waited for the machine to finish his cup. While the time passed he studied the front of their refrigerator, faring no better than a tackboard with its generous helpings of mangets and postcards. He poured his coffee, fixed it to his liking as a bluejay pecked around the outside of the window above their sink, and returned to the bedroom.
"You were grumbling, " he said to the woman who now sat upright against the headrest, whisps of white sheet advancing her midsection.
"Yes, I was grumbling."
"What about?"
"Children."
"You don't like children anymore?"
"No, not literal children. I mean how so many of the actions and habits we take onward into adulthood are some of the most basic ideas we ever had. Selfishness, jealousy, irreverence- they all started out in a sandbox. Someone pushes you and you get angry. Here we are, some twenty years later, and it just feels like we're still angry at that guy in the sandbox."
Nicholas held his coffee between his hands, sipping it and wondering if that bluejay was still at the window.
"You're probably right. I bet we really don't need as much schooling as we have after fifth grade or so, just vocational stuff. "
"I'm not trying to be right, I'm just trying to see if I've gone crazy yet. Am I crazy, Nick?"
"You're not crazy."
"You sure?"
"Here, have some joe." He handed her the half-empty cup and moved in behind her, to hold her. He could tell she wasn't watching anything outside the room, and that she was still uncertain. He tilted his head to speak directly into her ear.
"It is a very fascinating hypocracy for man to say so much that he so yearns for the joys of a child and wishes so desperately for them back, but has taken with him all the pains and injustices of growing up as if they were somehow more important, more necessary. No you aren't crazy. You're beautiful. You're wonderful, Adel."
He kissed her cheek as she sipped the coffee. Her hand reached back and felt the side of his face as she continued to think. At length he felt her relax and fall back into him. Her eyes regained the cunningness he had fallen in love with, and he knew she had won. She continued to drink his coffee.
"Did you know I saw a bluejay out over the sink a minute ago?"
"You put too much cream in your coffee."

~Fin~