When Jake stepped out of bed, it was still night. Is it dusk, or dawn? he thought. I can never get that correctly. Or anything at all.
He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a cup for his coffee but the pot was empty. The day is starting oh so well I see, he thought. But you, perhaps, you can change that. Jake was talking to his cat, Leonard, or Len, depending on his mood, that was circling around his feet waiting for his morning food. Are you only here for food Len? Seems like it. Jake poured some food in Len’s bowl, then sat, and waited. He waited for nothing, let’s face it, but he waited nonetheless. Is there anything that ever goes as planned? Nah, not likely. Jake stayed there for a couple of minutes, then stayed there some more, looking at Len devouring his food. The cat’s jaw like a terrible machine, crunching and crushing until everything was down and gone for good.
The clock ticked another tac, and seven came. Nothing had happened yet. Jake was up, Len was back asleep. He went into the bathroom, where she used to get ready by that hour. The usual fragrance smell wasn’t there. It hadn’t been there for a while. Instead, it smells lonely in here, Jake thought. He came in front of the looking glass, and stopped. What has happened to me? Nothing, probably. Just the way life goes. I have plans, or had, rather, he thought. But time took everything. Time is a thief, a villain.
Jake watched his reflexion in the mirror. The scruff of beard on his face made him look older, he liked it. He drew out his straight razor, but did not plan on using it. It was no use making plans for anything, everything turns down to dust in the end. Illusions really. His left hand unhooked the blade of the razor while his right hand held it. This was another thing he had never thought of, hands. As he put the razor down, he could see it all on his hands. Opportunities, moments, memories, touches of sweet harmony, everything gone in a heartbeat. Jake’s hands were growing bigger, darker, and there was something unreal about them now, he thought. It was all too much; too much of this or too much of that. Too much too contemplate.
An echo of an old laugh came piercing through his ears, a faint wave of memory. Distant, remote, not even his, perhaps. It often plays tricks on you, memory, that is. You have to be willing to do anything, just to avoid it or else, you’ll sink deeper and deeper. You can always sink deeper, never think you can’t. I’m positively negative, Jake thought, a walking paradox somehow. Living and yet not living? Nah, not likely. He went back into his room, and back into bed. Leonard came in slowly, as if knowing the little ritual. The cat briskly jumped on the bed, and settled down too. It was still night. Is it dawn, or dusk? Jake thought. I never get that correctly, or anything at all.