Thursday, August 6, 2009

A Morning (Working Title)

A Morning (Working Title)

Morgan took a slow sip of his heavy-cream-two-sugars coffee. His eyes were wide and staring, as they had been ever since he had awoken 45 minutes earlier. A small amount of his coffee dribbled down onto the short stubble on his chin. He set down his “#1 Dad” mug, and wiped the light brown liquid from his face. A tiny stream had wound its way down his neck. He decided to leave it.
Danny strolled into the kitchen, not even glancing at Morgan, and heading straight for the coffee pot. He poured a liberal amount into his own cup, a dark blue one acquired from The Dam Store outside Estes Park, and took a long drink from it. He sighed deeply and refilled. Danny then turned and took a seat across from Morgan at the table. Morgan’s eyes remained unfocused and far away. Danny glanced over his own right shoulder, as if he was trying to see what Morgan was looking at. He looked back at the other man, grinning at his own joke, wanting a smile back.
Morgan just kept staring straight ahead, not in pain or discomfort, simply staring and taking sips from his coffee.
Danny finally spoke, “You okay?”
Morgan blinked, and dragged his eyes towards Danny’s as slowly as a boot is pulled from deep mud. He licked his lips, “Hmm?”
Danny’s brow creased in the beginnings of serious concern. “I asked if you were okay, which obviously you’re not.”
Morgan looked embarrassed, as if he had been caught in a mild lie. “I’ve been thinking—well, not thinking. Um…trying not to think about it.” His voice sounded far away, like Danny was 20 years back hearing Morgan through a tin can on a string.
“Think about what?” Danny’s eyebrows, mouth, and jaw were now in full worry mode. Morgan was never like this. The handsome face Danny loved so much was so dark and hurt. When Morgan’s divorce was going on, he was always optimistic, and seemingly cheerful. When his ex-wife gained full custody of their son, Thomas—because the courts didn’t approve of Morgan’s lifestyle—he still would not be broken.
Danny knew Morgan better than anyone, and that was how it always had been. They had been friends for a little more than 20 years, and now their two year anniversary as a couple was only a week away, yet this was new for Danny. It was as if full despair had settled on his best friend. His face was flushed, eyes red a bagged, shoulders drooped. Danny tried to smile, but couldn’t. “Morgan. I love you, man. But you look like shit. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
Morgan’s eyes shut, his face scrunched the way Danny hated, the way it did after Morgan took a shot. His eyes creaked open, and there were tears brimming in them. Sunlight coming through the east-facing kitchen window caught his eyes and they shone. Danny felt his breath catch, and felt the onset of tears himself. “Please, baby. Please. What’s wrong?”
Morgan’s quivering voice broke past his chapped lips, “It’s stupid, but it really got to me. It shouldn’t, but…well, I had a nightmare.”
Danny sat back and let out a long breath. “Okay. That’s not stupid. Tell me about it.”
Morgan rose, and went to the coffee maker. He filled his cup to the top, and turned around, leaning on the counter. “It started with me, you, Drake, and Bill standing over this…this tiny grave. We were all crying. I looked down at the grave, and it said ‘Thomas Clarke’ on it.” Morgan brought the cup to his lips, hesitated, and then lowered it without taking a drink. “Huh. My son. My son’s grave. I mean, what the fuck is that?”
Danny didn’t answer, but rose to go stand next to Morgan. He took the shorter man’s right hand with his left, squeezed it, and held on tight.
“So in the dream, I bend down and touch the headstone. Then there’s this flash or something, and I see our house. This house, well the outside. The front yard. I see him just as I saw him during my visit last weekend. 4, small for his age, and his dark hair is sticking up in the back like it does, and he’s got that missing tooth. He was so proud when he showed me. I can’t believe his mom only gave him a fucking dime.”
“Morgan…” Danny warned, wanting Morgan to stay on track.
“Right. Okay. So Thomas, you, and I are in the front yard. Thomas is playing in the grass with his toys. You’re cooking something on the grill, and I’m reading in a lawn chair. Then this car, this driver comes around the corner way too fast. He hits the curb, and hops onto the sidewalk, coming straight for our house. Before either of us can do anything, the car just swerves, and smashes down the fence. Then the car hits Thomas. As soon as it hits him, and I heard the little yelp and crunch, I woke up. I was in a cold sweat, and crying, and…and…” Morgan dropped his coffee mug, and sank down to the floor. Danny set his cup on the counter and crouched down, taking the shuddering and shaking man in his arms. Morgan dissolved into sobs, almost choking, instantly soaking Danny’s shoulder.

1 comment:

  1. this is a really good start, i like that you dont say too much about the characters right away, it makes me want to read more. also i like that it shows how powerful dreams can be sometimes.