It was snowing outside; I could see it slapping against the windows. It was mushy, icy snow, too, just this side of sleet, almost like a dirty Slurpee was falling from the sky. The windshield wipers made soft, rubbery squealing sounds as they pushed the snow away. Back and forth, back and forth, always pushing away the snow. And it was dark, not because it was so late, but because heavy clouds were hanging in the sky, pushing the snow down.
I pressed my forehead against the window, almost startled by how cold it was. It made me slightly more alert, but not much. I was tempted to close my eyes, but knew that if I did I’d fall asleep and miss my stop. And we were getting close to my stop. We were nearing the end of the line, and I was one of four people left on the bus, including the bus driver.
I pulled the cord. The bus slowly churned to a stop and its doors popped open.
I stood up, grabbed my bag, pulled my hat further down on my head, and exited the bus. I almost slipped on the sidewalk.
I pulled my jacket tighter around myself and picked my way carefully down the street.
It didn’t take me too long to reach my building. I checked the mailbox (it was empty) and took the elevator up to the fourth floor, my floor. I went down the hall to 3-D and turned my key in the lock. The door slid open, and I stepped in and closed the door behind myself.
The apartment was sweltering.
“Goddamn,” I murmured as I took off my hat, coat, and gloves. Jonah had left the heat on again. And not just on — on high. A person could die in this kind of oppressive heat.
I turned the thermostat down and sent him a text: “You left the heat on again.”
I sat down at my desk and looked around. God, this place was a mess. In the main room, there were books, papers, and miscellaneous items on the floor, food cartons on the tables, and Jonah’s and my desks covered in our respective work. Our bedroom was covered in clothes and bags and more books and papers. The bathroom and kitchen were cluttered.
The combination of the heat and the disorder was making me claustrophobic.
I turned on the overhead fan and dug my laptop out of my bag. I turned it on, waited for it to load, and went to iTunes DJ.
The first song was a morose Death Cab for Cutie song. That wasn’t it. Next.
One of Marilyn Manson’s more raucous songs began to play. Hmm. Not what I had in mind, but it was making me feel better.
I made an entire playlist of his songs, rested my head on my desk, and closed my eyes.
Labels: january brings few faces
