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The siren call of ‘just one more thing’ frequently lured me to other parts of the house, where I tended to be when the need for sleep outpaced even my work ethic. In my chair, on the couch, in the tub, on one memorable occasion with my head in the sink— there was no telling where consciousness might kick in next.
Part of the problem with traditional slumber, apart from the creepy feeling of surrendering yourself to the void, was how terribly difficult it could be to fully rouse from it. Beds were designed to be as comfortable as possible, adesign flaw which could make the sleeper resistant to fully engaging with the waking world.
I would have to psych myself out. But finally, I convinced myself to roll out of bed, the sudden meeting with the cold floor bringing me the rest of the way awake. Then I zombie-walked to the bathroom, my stiff legs only vaguely cooperating with the dictates of my tyrannical brain.
She never really left. At least not in spirit. The engine might have started, the red eyes of the taillights disappearing into the dark of night, but Jonna still remained in my heart and my mind. I felt like we’d made a connection over the past couple of days, but I also knew that I needed to be careful.
We were both adults and it shouldn’t matter but it still did. I was technically in a position of power, making anything more than a strict business relationship questionable, at least to some people’s narrow and suspicious minds. Even taking her to the Loki’s Laugh gig was risking gossip and danger.
The only thing making it clearly not a date, other than the fact that it was strictly business related, was the presence of Sven and the AGAB guys. I wasn’t entirely versed on modern dating rituals, but I was pretty sure that courting didn’t tend to happen in groups.
Even so, I was careful to never be alone with her, always leaving my office door open when we were together, with Holly just down the hall, and I never made any sort of contact, even accidentally, no matter how much my spirit might call out for her touch.
I wanted Jonna, no doubt about that, needed her, even, but the choice between being with her and continuing running the label was not a clear-cut one. Especially when I wasn’t sure she felt the same way.
I told myself not to think about her too much, focusing instead on cooking myself some breakfast before my work-out. My house was bigger on the inside, or at least I liked to joke that it was. Despite its relatively modest size, the place I called home had a lot of rooms, ranging in size from tiny to huge, and I tried to make the most of it.
Among the accoutrements added was an exercise room. The in-home gym was the main reason I had yet to succumb to the scourge of the ‘middle-aged spread,’ even though I still had a while left until I qualified.
Out of curiosity, I’d done one of those ‘when will I die?’ tests, and was relieved to find out that, barring a freak accident, my number wouldn’t come up until I was 90.
I was halfway through cooking in my kitchen when all of a sudden, I heard whistling.
What the fuck?
The sound came from nowhere, a tune picked at random, I supposed— my experience with whistling being rather limited, despite my musical background. Everyone I knew had my full permission to knock me out if I was ever caught humming, let alone whistling.
But then I realized the sound was coming from me.
The mushroom popped and sizzled in the cast-iron skillet like a firework display. I had been carefully shifting it with the stainless steel flipper to avoid any unpleasantness. God only knew where I would have heard “I’m A Believer” lately, but out it came as I cooked another high protein, no meat breakfast, Jonna never far from my mind as I did so.
In fact, she happened to be appearing in several scenarios, in various states of dress. It was like a music video in my head that only I was able to enjoy as I ate my breakfast once I had finished cooking it.
Now that I was properly fueled for the morning, it was off to my altar of fitness, to try and defy time for another day. I didn’t need to worry, really. It was a lucky feature of my bloodline that everyone looked younger than they were. To the point that people literally didn’t believe my brother and I were both our mother’s children.
That was partly because of the ten-year age difference between us, but also due to the fact that our mom always looked at least ten years younger than she was. Despite remembering when Nirvana was still on the charts, I was still regularly mistaken for a millennial. Except when I grew a beard.
