Jealousy 8

The sun is shining in my window. My alarm reads 6:47am. I must have fallen asleep watching Serendipity. My eyes burn. Last night was difficult. Even after I thought I was done with grief, it found its way back to me each time John, rather the character he played, fell in love with someone else. I stretch my stiff limbs, trying to loosen them. They are cold as well, but I know the shower will warm them. Slowly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and push myself into a sitting position.

I look at the clock again. It’s 6:54 am. I’m not ready to get up and shower. Instead, I walk to the kitchen, grab a plain bagel, and load it with cream cheese. I set it on a blue dessert plate and reach for a matching glass for some orange juice. Setting it on the counter next to the refrigerator, I open the door. The orange juice is gone. My sigh sounds of disappointment although I am frustrated. “Damn it Laura.” I mutter under my breath. She’s infamous with her roommates and family for eating or drinking the last of things and not mentioning it or replacing it.

I close the door a little harder than necessary and put my glass away. I reach for a cream colored coffee mug gracefully painted with deep blue cattails. It is a popular design from the 1930s and goes beautifully with the painting large painting over the table. I fill it with hot water from the purifier on the tap and put it in the microwave for a minute. While the water heats, I grab a packet of rich hot chocolate from the crystal dish that holds them and a few marshmallows from the bag. The microwave’s beeping alerts me that my water is ready.

After mixing the ingredients, I take my bagel and hot chocolate back to my room. I set them down on the night stand, careful not to knock the picture over. I hit the eject button on my DVD and take Serendipity out. Pulling the drawer open, I replace the movie and take America’s Sweethearts out. I load it into the DVD player, climb back into bed pulling the blankets up to my chest and start to eat my bagel.

It is quarter after 7 when I hear the front door slam shut and Laura giggling. There is a loud clanking as her keys hit the floor and then the thud of her purse. I wait for the closet doors to open. They don’t and I hear the scuffling of two sets of feet. I am wise enough not to check what is happening. Laura loves being an artist and plays up to its stereotypes quite willingly. I am guessing she is coming home from a party that went into the wee hours of the morning and she has brought a guest home with her. The one thing I did not like about this apartment was the position of the bathroom. Once Laura moved in, I became thankful for the noise dulling effect it had between the rooms. I hear some more giggling and a man’s voice saying, “Which one is yours?” Laura doesn’t answer, but I hear her bedroom door close behind her. I turn the volume up on the TV. Just loud enough to drown out any possible noise, not loud enough o disrupt, and slide down under my covers, abandoning my breakfast.

At 9:30 I hear Laura’s door open again. She is walking her guest to the door. The giggling seems to have ceased and there is a carefree tone to her voice as she bids him farewell. I am restless and wish she would go back to bed so I can shower in peace. Finally, the front door closes. I wait a few minutes to give her time to use the bathroom before gathering my things for the shower and heading to the bathroom.