Saturday Night, Sunday Morning

The following story is based on a prompt from Taini’s Writings blog post #WWBH–Kick Off. It had to incorporate the photo prompt below as well as the words “gang, breakfast, plug, tablet, and sunrise.”

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The sunrise hurled a gang of bright light across my breakfast table and when the damn phone rang I broke the third commandment, ripped the plug from the wall, hurled it against the wall and smashed it to bits much like Moses smashed the first set of the stone tablets when he saw his brethren dancing around a golden calf.

I mean who calls five times in a row at 5:30 in the morning? On a Sunday no less. Don’t they know I had probably the worst god damn night of my life and I’m getting ready for church? I mean Jesus H. Christ. Enough already.

I broke my bread in half and tossed the smaller piece to the dog and, seeing my bottle of wine from last night still had a good glass left, I put the bottle to my lips and polished it off in one fail swoop. The dog he whined and I told him to shut up already. I had a headache and I had to get ready. I thought about taking a shower. Then thought against it.

I smelled my armpits and decided I’d made a good choice. It wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t be there anyway and my B.O wasn’t that bad. Even after last night. Heck, I still might even smell a little like her.

I’d seen her before and sure we’d shared words, but last night was the first night we really got to talking. I mean really got to talking. She shared of herself and I mine. And yeah, I’ll admit it, I broke the seventh. But so did she. That’s why I won’t see her today.

She told me she didn’t regret it. I could only smile and nod my head.

We hadn’t planned it. She came to see me. She needed comforting (her husband was, to put it nicely, a prick) and she had nowhere else to go. So I comforted her. I did what I was supposed to do, after all Jesus said those who mourn shall find comfort. She was in mourning. So I comforted her. I did what I was supposed to do.

She came to me trembling. I asked her if she’d like a glass of wine. She did. I joined her. One glass led to a second, led to a bottle, led to a second, then a third. That’s how things go: one thing leads to another. And that’s how things went: one thing led to another.

She’s still here, asleep and I wonder if she’s my golden calf. She definitely does have a nice pair of calves, that’s for sure. She’s got a nice pair of a lot of things.

I sneak past her and go to my bathroom careful not to wake her. I smile at her as she passes and I wonder, as I get dressed, if I made the right decision. Not about last night (though that most definitely prompts my question now). I look at myself in the mirror and ask myself if I’d made the right life decision as I slip the little piece of white plastic under my black color.


14 thoughts on “Saturday Night, Sunday Morning

  1. Good story and good use of the words. I especially like your title. Think it speaks as to the two sides of most humans… The “do good/do right” side and then the other side that us easily tempted, the “selfish” side.

    I am left to wonder #1 – who was calling… And, #2, what does the guy decide about his decisions in life.

    Like

  2. Hi Josh! Welcome to the blog hop! This is an uncomfortable story in a raw and real way. I like it! And you did a fabulous job working in those words. Nice work! Glad to have you aboard; I hope we’ll see more stories from you in the future. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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