In lieu of happiness, part 2
Harper woke suddenly, that is suddenly from a dead sleep he was wide awake. He hoped it was at least four in the morning. He didn’t want to get up, but he could see through to getting out of bed at four because the coffee maker was set to brew that early. He could get a cup and go out on the back porch and sit alongside the day as everything rose with the Sun. He hoped it was at least four, because he was sure he couldn’t get back to sleep.
He reached for his watch and knocked over the glass of water on his bedside table. “Ah,” he said out loud. Now he’d have to get up. He strapped his watch onto his wrist and pressed the little light button on the side. It was 1:37 a.m. “Darn it.” He got up and went to the bathroom for a towel to mop up the spilled water. He turned on the bedside lamp, so he could see the mess he’d made and remembered the prayer.
He whispered the part he knew under his breath, “God, grant me the serenity…”
What was the rest of it?” he said softly to himself. He opened the closet door and put the wet towel in the clothes hamper. Then he went to the kitchen. A sliver of moonlight came in the back window and landed softly on the stone counter lighting the small galley space just so. He opened the junk drawer. He moved the odd jumble of stuff around until he found what he was looking for. Her handwriting was so distinct. He’d know it anywhere. His heart quickened then dropped like a rock in a well with a long way to fall. He held the slip of paper she’d written on in his hand and read, “To accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” The words were heavy in his mouth. A thought rifled through his mind like gunfire, “I don’t want to do this work. I can’t.”
He looked around the kitchen. Her tea kettle sat empty on the stove. He took a pencil out of the junk drawer and wrote in a messy flourish, “How did we get here?” He wrote it underneath her prayer.Then he put the piece of paper back in the junk drawer and pushed it closed.
He went back to their bedroom and lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes and breathed in, long inhale. He held the breath in his lungs for a beat longer than was comfortable then let go and all the air rushed out of him into the dark room. He opened his eyes and noticed that a little bit of moonlight had made its way into the bedroom too. It landed on her dresser illuminating the top which was bare now as she’d taken her hair brush and the little wooden jewelry box with her when she left. “Acceptance, he thought, I don’t know.” Then he looked back to where the moonlight was sneaking in at the top of the window. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
The alarm on his watch woke him up at 4:45 a.m. He started to get out of bed and remembered his grandmother. She always said, “Before your feet hit the floor, say something to the day. Say whatever you want, just tell the day what you intend to make of it.” He caught his feet just above the floor and said, “Acceptance.” Then he felt foolish for saying it. At once he heard his grandmother’s voice in his head saying, “Harper, there’s nothing wrong with telling the day how it’s gonna be between the two of you. Don’t waste your time feeling any sort of way, much less foolish. Say your peace, and then get up and ease into it.” He said it again, “Acceptance.” He put his feet in his slippers, stopped off in the bathroom, then went for the coffee in the kitchen. He poured a cup and went out on the back porch to wait for the world to wake up.
