Recognition

Waking up feels different this morning. The sounds around the house are still the same, but the atmosphere is different. The smell of a fresh shower isn’t in the air, nor is the appearance of day-old clothes on the bathroom floor.  My fatigued body gets up and makes its way across our bedroom carpet. The once light and easy open door feels heavy and unmanageable; volumes of arguing children rise as it opens. The hallway feels longer and is crowded with toys on the floor and too many pictures on the wall. Our little girls fight over the same seat at the table for the fourth time this week. Until they get distracted by the TV playing cartoons in the other room and they run off. Their eggs and toast remain on the table to get cold, because we both know they won’t be back for them.

You continue to make yourself and I breakfast, making the house smell like a chain restaurant, only better. The coffee maker starts beeping and I grab the two mugs we always use and start to fill them. As sugar melts at the bottom of the cup, the cream forms smoke clouds. My coffee is as pale as my skin and yours a shade or two darker. I place the cups on the table as you bring over the plates of food. Before I sit down, I clear the children's plates and discard them into the trash. Without saying a word we sit and begin our morning. 

As I take a sip of my drink, I look up and notice your hair is getting longer and your beard needs to be trimmed. The same white shirt you wore to bed last night is wrinkled and stretched from your sleeping in it. Birds outside begin to sing and the wind pulls a slight breeze through the window, causing you to tense up. I know you don’t like the cold, so I stand to close the glass. As I walk past you, you grab my hand. We both remain still avoiding looking at one another. Then you motion for me to leave it open. I sit back down and you let go. In the other room, the baby starts stirring and waking up. Within seconds he begins crying. Instead of asking if I want you to get him, you remain looking down.  

Your hand wraps around your mug and your coffee covers your lips. You set the glass down on the wooden table and relax your shoulders letting out a long sigh. I can feel the world around me slow down and time stop. You look up and our eyes meet for the first time this morning. Your eyes make you look exhausted, your lips are chapped and breaking, and your smooth skin is starting to wrinkle. Before you open your mouth, I look down at the table because I already know what you’re going to say. The kids become quiet and so do the remaining birds. As I look back up and our eyes connect, I know; it’s over.