Damn, He Can't Compare

2. the grind

June 4th, 1986. Curt and my house. 7:04 A.M.

My eyes shoot open to the sound of the creaky pipes as the shower was being turned on, the sudden gleam from the sunlight in my eyes ached. I shut them tightly for a couple of minutes, contemplating having to wake up and start the day.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed, stretching my arms high above my head with a yawn. I was already exhausted from the fiasco last night. I make my way into the kitchen and begin to prepare breakfast.

When I'm done cooking, I stand still stirring milk into a cup of tea, waiting for my husband to hurry up. I felt disgustingly cold, it was probably the Bath weather making me feel this way being just on the verge of winter.

Finally, Curt walks out of the bedroom, carrying a brief case and trying to put his tie on properly, he could never do it. He smacks the case on the kitchen bench, I take over fixing the tie like I do every single morning.

He takes a seat at the dining table and begins to unfold the morning paper, "Do you need me to pick you up this afternoon?" he asked, skimming down the news.

"I'm working the late shift tonight." I spin around holding both plates in my hands, Curt softly sighs, "I'll ask Roland if he can drop me home, okay?" I assured him, placing the toast and eggs in front of him.

I return to the kitchen and bring back the freshly made coffee with me. Curt hadn't looked away from the newspaper, he always loved reading about current affairs. I fill the mug up, waiting for him to thank me.

When he doesn't, I leave it alone and start cleaning the dishes. Curt checks his watch, realising he's late, he finally takes a bite of breakfast, the crumbs fall all over the place, and he grabs the case, kisses me on the cheek, his mouth still full before he races out.

I glance back at the breakfast he had barely touched, letting out a harsh sigh. Things have been a bit different around here ever since he got promoted, now days he barely has time for me.

June 4th, 1986. A small diner. 7:55 P.M

The morning was filled with clinking plates as I cleaned up, this followed on during the day until the afternoon when I was at work. I hand the customer his plate of waffles, even though it's past dinner time and I insisted we stopped serving the breakfast menu hours ago.

I've been waitressing at this small dinner for around four years now, it was the only job available when Curt and I moved out on our own. I take my apron off and head out to look for Roland's car after my shift.

I spot him over the street light, suddenly I recall him getting shot in my nightmare last night. A rush of panic swells beneath my skin, I swallow the hard feeling in my throat and make my way over to the car.

Roland smiles seeing me open the passenger side door, "Get in it's cold!" he urges me, I quickly get in, hugging the coat to my body, he was right about the coldness.

June 4th, 1986. Roland's car. 8:24 P.M.

We begin to drive down the street, Roland pulls into a near by fast food joint, and orders 3 meals. I offer to pay for mine, but he assures me it's fine. He drives around to the second window and grabs the food.

On the way home, he chomps down on one of the burgers, his eyes leave the road every couple of seconds to see what he's biting, I couldn't help laughing softly at him being so adorable. I glanced at him, instantly become mesmerised at the street lights reflecting on his skin as we pass under them, he soon notices me looking, "You okay there?" he chuckles.

I shake my head, snapping out of whatever haze I was in. "You seem quieter than normal tonight." He looks at me with worried eyes. "I'm fine." I convince him, "Just tired I guess."