There was a Lot More to Katie than Her Horrifying Poetry

There was a Lot More to Katie
than Her Horrifying Poetry
Originally uploaded by relentlesstoil.

You sleep in on the weekends like everyone else you aren't extremely skeptical of. The sun isn't your enemy, but there is something about the newness of the sunlight in early morning that makes you uncomfortable. This is why getting up at 6 sucked so incredibly bad for you this morning.

But you did it, right? You crawled out of bed, showered in the cold morning air, got dressed in an uncharacteristic outfit of jeans and a t-shirt and even managed to slop some cereal into your mouth as your grand gesture towards the ritual of breakfast.

It wasn't long before you were in the car and on your way. It may not have been the best weekend to quit smoking, but at least you still have coffee and your favorite outlet is only a few blocks from your apartment. The line is usually long by the time you make it there on a Saturday, laptop under your arm, your purse overflowing with the detritus you have collected over the span of maybe 6 months or more. No laptop today. You won't be needing it. No cigarettes and no laptop. At least you still have coffee and there is practically no one in line.

There is one customer there, however. An older man, maybe in his 60's or 70's. You can't tell. You are terrible with guessing ages and it never really mattered much to you. People where either tolerable or intolerable. This guy seemed like he fit into the latter category.

He was in the process of ordering an elaborate concoction that went above and beyond the limits of practicality. The kind of drink that does it's best job to obscure the fact that it has coffee inside it at all.

"..and use steam to heat the water rather than from the tap," he instructed the barista, a guy named Eliot who you knew from your college days. Eliot took his instructions well. He even smiled and set off to create this elaborate beverage du jour. You found this surprising as Eliot's sarcasm levels usually ran as high as your father's cholesterol.

Then, surprisingly, your cell phone rang. It was Harden. Your boyfriend.

"Where are you?"
"Getting coffee."
"Why?"
"um...I like coffee."
"No shit. I mean why are you out this early?"
"Why are you calling me this early?"
"I haven't gone to bed yet. Ruby's party was a little crazy. These hippies showed up and things got ugly."
"Hippies, huh?"
"Yeah......anyway, what are you doing up?"
"I have something I need to do today."
"What? I don't remember you saying anything about..."
"It's something personal, okay? I thought we wern't going to do that whole jealousy thing."
"I'm not jealous. It just seems a little out of character, that's all...."
"Is there anything you'd actually like to say now? I have to order my coffee."
"Are you quitting smoking again? You seem kinda bitc..."

You hung up on him. You usually do.

With coffee ordered and delivered (you always get a breve latte with two shots, don't you?), you are out the door and back in the car again. You turn on your iPod and put it on shuffle. The little hula girl you have super-glued to your dashboard seems to jiggle and wiggle exactly in time to a song that you never knew the title of because it was on a mix CD your ex-boyfriend gave you. You didn't want to call him again to find out what it was.

Traffic is never bad on the weekends, but this early in the morning, the roads are free and clear, so MapQuest's estimate of 30 minutes to your destination was off by about 10 minutes. That means you are the first one there, which makes you immeadiatly irritable. Being early is a sign of weakness.

You debate with yourself if this whole thing was a good idea or not. It's too early. You should be asleep. You work too hard during the week and need to rest up so your idiot boss can give you more work that doesn't even begin to capitalize on your true talents. But this was something you needed and you knew it. It was an idea you had in a moment of clarity and unlike your other fabulous ideas, this was something you wanted-- no. needed-- to follow through with. Not for your Mother, not for your asshole of a Father, not even to prove a point. It was just for you.

And it was also up to you to follow through with it.

You sip your coffee down to the last bit of froth, lick around the rim of the cup, and systematically toss it into the backseat to join the honorable ranks of the other dead soliders in the battle against the sleepies.

You notice something in the corner of your eye. You see someone else coming down the road. They park their large, red pick-up truck next to your car and get out. It's a man who looks so much like a construction worker that he actually was one. He smiles when he sees you in your car and walks over. You roll down your window.

"You here to work on the Habitat for Humanity project?"
"Yeah."
"Great. Let's get to work before it gets too crowded around here."

You actually found yourself nervous. You actually felt real.

*A little break in format today. Thanks to Keet for the pic and inspiration.