The Hours We Have

chapter thirteen

In life, everything has an artifice. 

My alarm went off for work and I got out of bed. I got dressed in my uniform and I showed up to work with minutes to spare. I started my shift and I worked hard. But the sleepless night before nagged me, Ezra's words were burned into my tired mind, and I began thinking about life at the moment, which felt like it was falling apart. Was any of this even worth it? 

For eight hours, I'll be on my feet, serving customers, just to take the paycheck home and split it between bills and necessities for being alive. Day after day, it was the same thing. A meaningless cycle that had us all trapped in the mindset that we're doing something. But are we? Or are we tricked into a circle? Deceived to believe we can be happy? 

We literally just pay bills and die, and Ezra was right. Maybe we won't die today but every day, with every breath, we're closer to death. There is a metaphorical clock within our bodies, and we never know when the time will run out, but the hands are always counting down the hours, the minutes, and the seconds of our lives. We'd never know which day is our last and perhaps that's what made life an artifice because it deceives us into believing we have time.

I carefully set down a plate of steaming eggs in front of a customer and then I retreated behind the counter. I was running on autopilot, everything seemed to be a grey blur around me, noises seemed distant and I was drifting with my thoughts. Someone gently bumped against my shoulder to get my attention. 

Sandy was frowning at me, "You're really quiet today." 

"I'm just tired," I replied. 

"You look exhausted," She commented, "Is everything okay?" 

"Yeah," I forced a small smile in her direction and then I left to see if any of the customers needed more syrup on their tables. Sunday morning shifts were notorious for orders of mounding pancakes and sausage logs. 

I could feel Sandy trying to burn holes in the back of my head but I didn't return to the counter. In fact, I avoided most of my coworkers all day. I just didn't want to talk. I was caught up in my thoughts and I really was tired. I felt like I was carrying everyone else's problems, plus mine, and it was getting really hard to do. 

I was struggling enough being a young adult, trying to earn my education, bringing in what felt like mere pennies only to send it back out. I felt like a paper that someone had torn up into a million pieces and the slightest breeze would blow me away, like a discarded newspaper that skittered down the streets of the city. Nobody paid any mind to it, just another thing discarded by society. 

I slammed an empty cup down on the counter in front of me. My heart constricted in my chest and I placed both hands on the smooth surface to ground me. I wasn't even aware that customers had startled at my outburst and their eyes were glued to me until I felt someone's gentle hand on my back. I glanced up and saw it in their eyes, they were all looking at me like I didn't belong. 

Maybe I didn't. 

"Why don't you go home today?" Sandy whispered to me, I moved away so that her hand wasn't touching my shoulder, "You need to take care of yourself. Bailey will pick up your tables at eleven, okay?" 

I barely even nodded, unable to meet her eyes, before I slipped into the back to grab my things. Of course, I needed the money but I couldn't bring myself to care. I had seriously started fraying like a thread under too much stress. I wasn't going home, there were issues going on there and I didn't want to deal with them, so when I left the cafe I headed toward the city park.

It wasn't a far walk and there were plenty of people who obviously had the same idea as me. I found a secluded spot beneath a giant oak tree and I collapsed with the rough bark against my back. For a moment, I let my eyes scan the people occupying the small green field.