Chapter 2

The sun rose on the eastern horizon. I watched it as the bright colors of orange, red, and a little purple suddenly burst across the sky. I watched it every morning because I was awake and driving to work before it ever peeked into the sky, and it was beautifully different every day; yet, it was always the same. The traffic was slow, as it was every morning. This is why I got up so early and left for work before the sun came up: the people that lived around me and drove the same way I drove to work didn't know how to drive, and, so, I got stuck driving behind them--going five miles an hour (ten miles, tops, on a good day). The air was cold and crisp, and the wind blew lightly at my face, which made my eyes squint when the cold air hit my eyes. Sometimes, I used shield my eyes with my hand, trying to block the air from my face, but it always found a way under my hand (of course, it could've been over my hand, had I the knowledge or the state of mind to think about it and figure it out) and into my eyes, so I eventually gave up on that a long time ago.

The day was like any other day. It started the same and I was convinced it was going to end the same, as every other day ended the same. I was convinced that it was going to end with a little bit of sweat on my forehead, from the heat (of course, it could have been from the walking, or the constant sitting and worrying, or any other number of things, had I given any thought to either of those-all I ever thought about was the heat), because the air conditioner was never on, on account that the boss hated us (of course, it could have been that it didn't work, had I gone to check it out or even ask the boss, but we all blamed it on the boss anyway) and would never turn it on. I was convinced that it was going to end with me eagerly watching the clock, waiting for the little hand (the hour hand, it is called) to hit the five and the big hand (the minute hand, it is called) to go over the twelve so I could run out the door, get in my truck, and hit the road home going eighty miles an hour on the highway, because I got out of work before all the idiots from the morning did, and I wanted to make it home before they got on the road (of course, it could have been that so many cars going the same direction all at the same time just added up to a congested highway, had I given myself the chance to reason that part out).

I was convinced it was going to end with me walking in the front door, dropping my briefcase and coat on the chair, and heading straight for my room to get on my computer (that I always left on even after swearing to myself the night before that I would turn it off, but I never did) to check my e-mail, write a few letters, and then leave it on (of course, I would have turned it off every night, had I given myself the chance to by not thinking of the next step in my everyday routine, but I never gave myself that chance). I would then find my way to the shower to have a nice, warm cleaning session before going into the kitchen, pulling a frozen TV dinner out of the freezer (which always left my hand freezing, even though it was only in the freezer for, like, two seconds), and sticking it into the microwave. I was convinced that it was going to end with me watching some television while not really paying much attention, blankly walking down the hallway to my bedroom, leaving the television on (of course, I could have turned it off every night, had I checked it in the mornings to see if it was on or not, but I never did check it), and getting into bed, trying to sleep, but I always stayed up for another hour (of course, it could have been two or three more hours, had I the chance to look at the clock in my living room--there was no clock in my room) thinking about the next day instead. Why I thought of the next day was always beyond me, but I always did. And I always pictured the next day being just like the day that I just lived. I remember always thinking about how boring my life was (of course, other people's lives could have been just as boring, had I given them to chance to tell me so, but I never spoke to other people, so they never got that chance) and how I would just have to deal with the way my life is.

While I was at work, it was hot. My boss still hated us all (or the air conditioner wasjust broken, but who cares), the clock still went slow, and I bit my nails in anticipation. Just as I did on every other normal day.

The clock hit five o'clock P.M. I snatched my jacket, stood up, and briskly walked, then ran, to my truck. I jumped in, cranked it, and slammed it in reverse. The truck backed, the tires squealed, the evening shift guys just coming in pointed and yelled (just as they did on every other normal day) and I shot out of the parking lot. I hit the gas, changed lanes, cut some guy off (probably the same guy I cut off every day, had I taken the opportunity to look), turned onto I-35 North Service road, changed lanes again onto the entrance ramp and sped onto the highway. I hit 80 miles per hour about five seconds later.

I was home in tenminutes. Now, on a typical day, I jump out of my truck as soon as I jam the shift-stick into park, walk to my apartment door (Building D3, Room 7), slide my key into the lock and lock the door (because I always leave it unlocked, on accident, and kick myself every day for doing so), turn it back and unlock it and walk in.

Today was different. For only one minute, it was different. My truck grumbled to a stop and I just sat there. For no reason at all except that something was different. I couldn't place it and I tried not to think about it. Changes weren't routine and so I didn't mess with them; I didn't wait for them and I didn't want them. Nevertheless, against my own will, I sat. Keys still dangling from the ignition. Seat still poised at it's 90-degree angle. Door still shut with my hands gripping the steering wheel.

Today was Thursday. I grocery shop on Saturday. So what was I doing? I couldn't think. Something moved just outside my peripheral vision (or...it was more like a jitter, or a shutter). I sat still, a single bead of sweat slowly sliding down my temple.

There it was again.

I closed my eyes. Everything felt heavy. Air. Sweat. The seat I was sitting on felt like it weighed on my shoulders. I twisted my grip on the steering wheel, slowly. I clenched my teeth (or I could have been grinding them, I didn't really think about it). I had to move. I opened my eyes and looked at my watch. 5:11 PM.

One minute.

I looked around and everything was normal again. I yanked my keys out of the ignition, pushed the truck door open, and slammed it shut behind me and I walked to my door. By the time I reached it, I had forgotten the whole thing (or so I tried to tell myself: everything was normal). I stood in front of my door and took a deep breath. I reached up and slid my key into the door. Then something else changed. I didn't turn it. I just walked in (because I always leave it unlocked, on accident). And then something else changed. Big time.

Instead of walking into my apartment, into a room with faded blue walls and pictures hung up lazily and crooked; instead of walking in next to my couch by the door and the kitchen to my right; instead of walking in and staring down a short hallway that always seemed so long; instead of walking into that...

I walked into a pale white room.