Gorilla, Let Down Your Hair

Chapter 2: A Day Away

The next morning, orange sunlight tickled Vicky's closed lids, drawing her to wakefulness against her will. She preferred to sleep in on Sundays, taking the extra measure of installing black-out drapes in her bedroom to ensure the sunrise banging off her east-facing window didn't interrupt this once-a-week privilege. In her distracted state last night, she must have forgotten to ensure the drapes overlapped properly. Now she regretted the mistake, but without a working time machine, there was nothing to be done about it except get up and start the day.

With her eyes still shut tight, Vicky rolled away from the offending light source and stumbled to the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later a bit more alert, her hair brushed back in a simple ponytail and her face freshly scrubbed. In short order, she was sitting at the table with her oatmeal, apple, side of bacon, and steaming cup of coffee to watch the world outside wake up. She considered grabbing her phone or laptop to check the news but immediately rejected the idea. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to catch up on the latest gossip about her vanished boss and other less personal drama.

The silence in the apartment allowed Vicky to hear the first chirps of the birds, drawn out into the crisp spring air as the sun warmed it. This early in the season, Colorado Springs still struggled to escape winter. Morning temperatures flirted with freezing a couple days a week, but every tree and bush boasted tender new foliage. In a month, the shade provided by tree branches above her corner of the building would prevent this morning's dramatic sunrise invasion with their impressive oak leaves. As it was, the shadows cast by the fragile greenery overhead mixed with random sunbeams and a breeze to create fascinating ever-changing patterns on the table. The simple beauty of the quiet morning tugged on a memory of a song about an "Awesome God" from her childhood, and she found herself humming it as she cleaned up.

The peace of the morning soothed her soul and sparked her creativity in return. The bustle of work had long since absorbed the time and energy she needed to create her poetry, and she searched several places before locating her journal, lying sideways across the books on the top shelf of her small bedroom bookcase under a coat of dust. Finding her favorite gel pen required a few more minutes of digging in drawers. She curled up on the couch with her supplies and got lost in capturing the morning in verse.

Taking only a few breaks for necessary bathroom and snack breaks, Vicky spent the day engrossed in her writing. By the time the blue sky outside boasted streaks of orange and pink, several new poems adorned the journal's pages. With a yawn, Vicky stretched her arms overhead, splaying her fingers wide and rotating her wrists to dispel their stiffness and ease the cramped muscles. Even though her body ached, satisfaction filled her mind at the sight of her accomplishment.

Never an organ with great timing, her stomach rumbled, reminding her that several hours had passed since her last substantial meal. She took a moment to put away her writing paraphernalia and tidy up the remnants of her snacks. In short order, she sat at the kitchen table with a hot meal and a glass of cold water. Her hunger drove her to scarf down the tasty food, and within minutes, she stood at the sink washing dishes. She opened the window, wondering if her visiting vocalist would return tonight. The darkness outside revealed nothing; she doubted anything short of a person dressed in neon glow-in-the-dark fabric might as well be invisible tonight.

She hummed aimlessly as she scrubbed, but she couldn't settle on just one song that felt right. While she'd enjoyed her day of writing, she was no closer to solving her employment problem. Creating poetry filled her soul with light, but she needed money to pay her bills. For the first time in years, she regretted choosing a career path that required so much of her time, keeping her from pursuing her writing consistently.

The silence around her pressed in, scratching at her sanity like a trapped animal at the walls of its prison. Vicky refused to give in to it, snatching up her phone from its charger by the coffee machine and turning on a music app. As often happened, the first song to blast from the device fit her mood, a band singing about pain that "God Only Knows." She began to sing along, but before she finished the first phrase, someone knocked on her door.