a bad day turned sour
December 2, 2021
It was well past midnight when the bus rolled nonchalantly past 13th and Bleak, strolling by at such a consistent velocity that it could have fooled even the most experienced local commuter. Elijah was less than equipped to track the stops, his frantic mind bouncing between traffic laws, tomorrow’s early morning meeting, and the expiring fridge milk, before his neighbor’s marble white lawn gnome entered his periphery just a second too late.
Yanking hard on the stop line, Elijah knew it was too little too late. “FUCK!” he cursed, adding a couple extra jerks to make sure the damn bus knew to stop next time. Elijah was not usually one to curse, especially out loud and in public, but even the most well-tempered man couldn’t process a towed car followed by three counts of parking negligence with a level head. Sprinkle on the looming pressure of moving out of his parent’s basement, and… well, he couldn’t leave now because he’d just lost his only vehicle of escape.
All he wanted was to be home ASAP, under the warmth of his covers, to cry. But with that delayed, he instead launched a series of rhythmic kicks at the seat before him, in beat to a string of loathing remarks about life’s cruelty. Elijah knew he was startling the little old lady three rows ahead, but he was allowed to be selfish when everything about today sucked. He’d pay for his critical error and bad citizenship by trekked up the steep rise between Troya and Bleak, slipping over invisible winter leaves and the persistently backward wind—“Bellingham’s strongest windstorm in seven years”—until he reached the same stupid stop they had preemptively passed. Nine minutes and a regressing mood he would never recover.
But then, lo and behold, he forgot his keys! Of course! Because God tortured sinners to no end, Elijah ended up breaking into his own mother’s home at 1:03am with fingers that were swollen from the cold and struggling to lift the one unlatched window at ground level. And when he finally deflated into his rug, he didn’t bother closing the panes. What an evil emotion frustration was, passionate enough to induce self-loathing and draining enough to do nothing about it. And that’s how he drifted off to sleep, angry at his shitty day with a shittier ending, frustrated with himself, and waiting to wake up to an ice cold living room.