Read Chapter 1 here
Read Chapter 2 here
Noble’s eyes snapped open. Just as quickly, they snapped shut again, and he made a noise like a low growl that extended into a sort of plaintive whine. He reached out an arm and blindly swatted at the screen of his phone, hoping to connect with the snooze button, as a chipper little tune played over and over. Rolling over, he mashed his face into the pillow and exhaled lungfuls of hot carbon dioxide into the plaid flannel until the fabric grew damp and he couldn’t breathe anymore. In a flurry of tapping, he finally succeeded in silencing the alarm.
He rolled onto his back. He considered opening his eyes again—much more slowly this time, obviously—but couldn’t find the resolve.
The bed felt like a warm hug; the flannel was soft, the comforter was indeed a comforter. Mustering his courage, he opened one eye to a narrow slit. He looked at the time displayed on his phone, did some quick math in his head, and determined that he could get to work early if he arose right now. Or I could sleep a little longer, he mused. There were a lot of timing-related things that would have to go just so, but it was possible.
Noble’s eye closed again, and he time traveled nine minutes forward, as the alarm seemed to immediately start up again. He repeated the ritual of the snooze button twice more, each time growing more annoyed and less satisfied with his cocoon.
At least it’s Friday, he told himself, trying to rationalize the terrible, irreversible, and nevertheless inevitable decision to begin the day. Almost made it to the weekend. We can do this, one more time. With a mighty half-growl, half-gurgle, he shambled out of bed and into an upright position. He looked at the clock. Getting to work early was no longer possible, but he might just make it on time.
His morning routine called to mind the image of a panda on cocaine. He half-sprinted through the house in a sleepy shuffle, grabbed a diet cola and a mini bagel from the fridge—he considered a second bagel, but thought better of it—and headed back to the shower. He tried unsuccessfully to shampoo his hair while keeping the bagel dry; he ate the soggy thing anyway. Then he stood, pleasantly steaming, sipping his soda, feeling the caffeine work its way into his bloodstream, all the while trying not to think about all the work he hadn’t finished the day before.
The hot water had the same effect as his bed, and he had several false starts before decisively twisting the faucet shut and opening the curtain to let in a blast of chilly air. Shivering, he half-dried himself and struggled to pull dry clothes over his damp limbs.
He put on a light jacket and swung the strap of a new-looking black backpack over his shoulder; it bore the name of a software company whose annual conference he’d attended the month before. He started to open the front door of his apartment, but stopped. He ran to the kitchen; he wanted the second mini bagel after all.
The front of the fridge was decorated with an assortment of magnets, some holding up menus from local restaurants—a sort of holdover from pre-internet days, when they were actually useful for ordering, although he supposed they still worked pretty well as advertisements. There was also a an art calendar from a nearby bank: this month featured Water Lillies. He kept track of most of his appointments on his phone, but he still liked having a place to look at the entire month at once, to give him a general sense of where he was in the grand scheme of the year.
Or to remind me of the holidays, he thought, looking at today’s date. The calendar confirmed it was Friday, and in small print next to the number were the words “Arbor Day”. He drew back just a bit at the realization. Arbor Day already? How had he forgotten?
Memories of Arbor Days past arose, unbidden. He shuddered.
Aspen trees and cats. Flashes of blue light.
Just then, he saw the barest hint of movement out of the corner of his eye; it looked like the fluttering of a flag or a leafy tree branch. He froze. After a moment, he turned to the kitchen window, but there was nothing there.
Bird, he thought. Or an adventurous city squirrel.
Shaking his head, he took the second bagel out of the fridge and closed the fridge. He returned to the entrance of the apartment and left, locking the door behind him.
