The screech of the alarm rang from the dresser in the room but the body did not move. On and on it screamed until finally an arm slowly reached over and pounded down near the sound. The first hit dislodged a wallet, some keys and jostled the lamp, but the alarm continued. The second hit landed squarely on the alarm with a loud thud, silencing the sound mid-squeal.
The arm appeared to be the only living appendage on the body as it slowly moved back over the bed, tugging on the sheets and slowly unraveling the body. Finally there was a small groan from the depths of the mattress as the body rolled onto its side, much the same way a beached whale slowly rolls in the sand. The head lolled up and the eyes opened slightly to the world. There was a glimmer of recognition in the eyes which disappeared after the faintest glow of light shone through the window. The body loathed the glow coming through the window and the encroaching sunrise. There was a hate behind the closed eyes that knew what was coming.
Suddenly, and with great force a sound echoed through the mattress. “Uunnnnnggghhhh.” A moment later a leg kicked at the sheets and a great thrashing began on the bed. Had there been another person in the room, much less in the bed, an ambulance would surely have been called because the commotion so closely resembled a seizure.
When the commotion finished there was a person sitting on the edge of the bed. His eyes were open ever so slightly, continuing to loathe the approaching sunrise and knowing that the race was now on. With spring here the race had become harder and harder to win, but thus far he had won every morning. Raising his hands he rubbed his eyes with great force and drew open his mouth in an expansive and long-winded yawn. Upon completing these tasks he stood, carefully at first, and then with more confidence. His legs still worked.
Slowly he placed one foot in front of the other and traveled to the door, opening it quietly so as not to wake the sleeping house-mates who were trying to fall back asleep after a rude awaking by the aforementioned alarm clock and sounds, both of which had easily passed through the thin walls. He stepped into the cool hallway and padded towards the kitchen, still mostly asleep and with eyes only vaguely recognizing the surroundings.
With automatic action from years of practice he poured grounds into the coffee pot, added water the the basin, plugged in the machine and pressed ‘start.’ Taking a mug he sat on a stool pulled up to the kitchen bar, a mere foot from the coffee maker, and watched the machine work. Slowly there were sounds of steam and heating water. There were small drips into the coffee grounds, saturating the material and eventually dripping through into the carafe. First one tiny drop. Then another and another. Finally the machine was pouring forth a dark, rich liquid. Still the man waited.
Behind him a woman padded to the end of the wallway a slowed to a stop. She looked at the man, not recognizing him from the night before, although she did not remember much of the night before. She stood and watched the man as he sat and watched the coffee begin to slow to a trickle. The pot was nearly full. She slowly walked into the kitchen and he glanced up. He stared at her for a moment trying to reach back through the fog of his brain to find a name, location, time, or situation. Any sort of recognition of this tall dark-haired young woman who had entered his morning ritual.
Finally after being unable to make any sense of who or why this woman was here, he simply smiled and pointed towards the far left cupboard. She smiled back, nodded, and walked to the cupboard and opened it. Finding it full of mugs she choose one, closed the cupboard and slowly walked around the counter to join the man sitting and the kitchen bar. She sat and watched the last few drops of the coffee drip into the carafe before the man turned the machine off. He pulled out the pot and turned offering her the first cup. She held out her mug and he filled it to the brim, then promptly turned to his own mug and filled it.
As she held the coffee to her lips and smelled the rich scent of the dark roast she watched as he carefully placed the carafe back in its stand and then drew a long swig of the rich dark steaming liquid from his mug. After a great swallow he took a great breath and slowly let it out. Then once again he drew a full swig and slowly let it trickle down his throat. With the mug now three quarters empty he set it down on the counter and promptly refilled it to the top.
He slowly turned to the woman and in an explanatory tone said to her “I won again.” He looked at her as if to receive a congratulations, but with nothing forthcoming except a puzzled expression he gave a contented sigh and continued, “You see, I have a bet with the sun. The bet is that I can wake before it on every day of the year. The sun is lazy for much of the year in the Pacific Northwest, and does not rise very early. But as spring draws near the sun becomes ambitious and tries to sneak up on me by rising a few minutes earlier every day. But once again,” he said drawing back the blinds in the kitchen window, “I have won and risen before the sun.”
