Today’s post is a Flash Fiction written by good friend and amazing author, Phillip Sagardoy. He is a Marine Corps Veteran and writes with a captivating perspective on life. Phillip is currently in the process of putting some of his work on Amazon, I’ll be sure to keep you updated as those get published. Please enjoy the story, I know I did!
I open my eyes and look at the alarm clock. 6:00 A.M. Another day, no not yet, I hit the snooze.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
I open my eyes a second time, this time frustrated. I look at the alarm clock, it’s ten after six. Should I get up? Not yet. I hit the snooze another time.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Damn the alarm is going off again. I open my eyes for the third time; I think it’s the third time. Look at the alarm clock. Seven A.M. How many times have I hit the snooze? I’ve got to get up now, I’m late.
The morning is a rush of panic and chaos. Hit the bathroom, take a shower, find clothes, and get dressed.
“Carrie, I don’t have clean socks.”
“Yes you do, they’re in the dryer. Try looking next time.”
Put on shoes and socks, find my coat, and pack my backpack.
“Carrie, have you seen my wallet?”
“It’s on the microwave.”
I give kisses goodbye.
“Have fun at school,” or “have a good day at work.”
I rush out the door, no time for the car to warm up. I have to get going. Mental note, don’t hit the snooze so many times tomorrow. Yeah right.
I get three blocks away and check my rear view mirror. I notice the car seats for the kids are in the back seat. Shit! I pull into Maverick, turn around, pull out heading in the same direction I came from. My phone rings.
“Um, you took the car seats with you. I need them. I have to leave right now or I’m going to be late.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I already noticed. I’m on my way back right now.”
We hang up. She sounded irritated. That’s okay, I’m irritated too.
I pull in front of my house. Carrie is in the driveway with kids under her heels. She’s pissed.
“Here you go. Sorry Care.”
“It’s okay,” she says as she kisses me goodbye for the second time.
It’s confirmed, she’s irritated. Not good, her bad days end up being my bad days.
I flip the car around and head off to school. Traffic, of course. I have to park on the west side of Harrison Blvd. or the Street of Death as I call it. The school is on the east side. There isn’t a crosswalk within two hundred yards of me. I cross the Street of Death. Not this time, still standing.
Only fifteen minutes late for my first class, not bad. I stumble over people already in their seats on my way to mine. I make it.
“Hopefully you guys didn’t struggle too much with the homework last night. I don’t want the assignment to discourage you,” the professor says.
Wait a minute, there was homework last night? Well at least the assignment can’t discourage me.
Class get outs, a long uphill walk and a cigarette later and I’m in the next one. Now I know I didn’t finish the assignment for this class, just no time. Is college always associated with this feeling of unpreparedness, or is this just reserved for me?
My last class ends at 2:45, work starts at 3:00. Another close call on the Street of Death, but again, miraculously, I make it. I walk over to work, leaving the car where it’s parked.
Three to eight, that’s what I have to be excited about. Get to work at three, work on the phones, telemarketing. I’m a thirty year old telemarketer, sad.
“Get some sales today.”
“Fix your rejects.”
For five hours I call unsuspecting families in the middle of their dinner, relaxation, or family time. I try everything in my power to persuade, or push them into buying something that I know is no good for them and extremely overpriced.
“They’re great!” I lie. “You’re gonna love them,” I lie again. “Your children are gonna learn so much from these, mine did.” Yeah right.
Work ends at eight after a successful day of getting Americans deeper in debt. No time for that now. I need some dinner. I haven’t eaten all day. I drive home. Traffic again, what’d’ya know.
I get home, 8:20. Kids are running around everywhere, the baby is crying. Kid’s bedtime, 8:30. Ten minutes.
“Hey Girlie,” I say.
“How was work?”
“Good,” I lie. “Have the kids eaten yet?” I ask.
“No, we’re about to eat now.”
Ten minutes? Math: 8:20 plus twenty minutes to eat if they’re fast, probably more like thirty-five. This puts us at 8:55. Add ten minutes, three girls and one boy to their wash hands, face, and brush teeth. Now it’s 9:05. Add ten minutes, the time it will take us to tell the girls to get to bed because we will forget all about them while we are cleaning up the kitchen. 9:15 now. Add five minutes, the time it takes to tuck them into bed, now it 9:20. Add fifteen minutes of Carrie and I yelling and screaming at them to stop playing around in their rooms and go to sleep. Kids actually asleep at 9:35.
We fall a little behind my initial estimate. I read the kids a bedtime story before bed. 9:45 becomes the actual bedtime. Maybe we’ll do better tomorrow night. Yeah right.
Carrie wants to cuddle on the couch. I have a paper to write. I try to write my paper but the temptation to sit with her and relax is too great. I know she is warm, and I know she will make my body relax and take away the stress of the day. I give in. I will have time to complete my paper tomorrow in the computer lab before class.
We watch The Office, or Grey’s Anatomy, or some reality TV show I could care less about. I don’t argue with her over what we watch, I’m just glad to be sitting next to her.
I start to doze off, just to be woken up at 11:00.
“Hey sweetie,” Carrie says as she gives me a sweet little kiss on the cheek. “You fell asleep.”
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was just resting my eyes,” I lie.
She smiles at me. She knows I’m lying. I must have been snoring.
“It’s time for bed anyways,” she says.
We go to bed. Thank goodness, I’m exhausted.
I strip off my clothes and lie down in our king sized bed. Real comfort at last. I cuddle up behind Carrie and wrap my arms around her warm body.
“Goodnight, I love you,” I whisper in Carrie’s ear.
My muscles start to loosen up and relax, and I drift to sleep.
“Phillip,” I hear as I’m being nudged. “Phillip, the baby is crying. It’s your turn.”
Shit! This is my initial reaction. I sit up, rub my eyes and crawl out of bed. A full hour of rocking the baby and rubbing his back and he finally falls asleep again.
I crawl back into bed dead tired. I look at Carrie who is sound asleep. She looks beautiful. I cuddle up next to her for the second time, and she nuzzles into me. It’s worth it.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
I open my eyes and look at the alarm clock. 6:00 A.M. Another day, no not yet, I hit the snooze.
-Written by Phillip Sagardoy
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