Cold Fall Morning

Charlie wakes up to a rainy day.

Charlie burst awake, sweating in a cold room. The blankets and sheets had already been thrown to the left of the bed. He looked outside and saw the rain had continued through the night. It hadn’t rained unusually hard this week, but it had stayed well past its welcome. The patter of rain was gradually overtaken by a swish of leaves outside the window.

This is getting old, Charlie thought to himself. The alarm clock displayed five AM in bright green. He groaned inside his head. He hadn’t had more than a few hours of sleep this week. Charlie felt some relief as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He knew he wasn’t getting back to sleep; the only option was to get out of bed.

Charlie picked up his glasses and stepped out of bed. He glanced again out the open window and took a deep breath. The smell of wet leaves filled the room, which seemed to be the one condolence of the morning rain.

He held his gaze out the window and remembered why he lived here. Years ago, he stepped on the property and in less than an hour, decided this was going to be his home. That day was at the height of Autumn. Trees near and far, full of reds, oranges, and yellows of all shades. The movement and color of the trees were mirrored across the top of the pond in front of them. And there was that faint chill in the air. Perfect. Having spent the better part of life in the city, it was a welcome change.

At the moment he first looked over the pond, a fish jumped in the center of the pond. Birds pecked at insects at the edge of the water and squirrels tackled each other in the dry leaves. It was as if the real estate agent commanded nature to form around Charlie’s idealistic visions of the countryside. When he first stepped into the house, a breeze came through the open windows and he smelled the drying leaves that were flying across the grounds. The scene gave life to his senses and his future. A life that he felt he was losing in the city.

In the years since that day, those October reds and yellows dampened to a dull gray. Even on a sunny day he rarely acknowledged the trees the way he did that first time. The fish, birds, and squirrels continued to perform, but Charlie was no longer part of the audience.

He walked out of the bedroom into the kitchen. The cabin interior welcomed him but he couldn’t embrace the feeling. This day has to start sooner or later, he thought to himself, but it wasn’t going anywhere without coffee.

The coffee carafe wasn’t exactly clean but he bothered only to briefly rinse it before filling it with water and pouring it into the coffee maker. We’re out of filters, Charlie realized. He immediately glanced a the note on the door reminding yesterday’s Charlie to pick up coffee filters before coming home. Typical, Charlie chastised his yesterday self. He looked at a paper towel, shrugged, and stuck it in the basket. He remembered there was another scratch on that note. No coffee beans. He scooped a begrudging heap of store-brand coffee and dropped it on the makeshift coffee filter. He struggled through three more scoops and turned on the coffee maker. He observed, unblinking, while the carafe filled with grainy coffee. It appeared dark enough, at least.

He took his cup of coffee into the dining room, highlighted by floor-to-ceiling windows with a perfect view of the fall scene. He sat at the table and admired a view he once cherished. It looked drab compared to the first years living there but, he could still admit, that it was still quite a view. He watched a small spot in the water turn into a turtle slowly walking up a log. Escaping the water to sit in the rain. Charlie supposed rain was a promotion from complete submersion.

He sipped the first drink from his coffee and got a mouthful of coffee grounds. He stood up, walked over to a cabinet in the kitchen, and rummaged through a jumble of pots and pans before taking out a fine mesh strainer. He got a second mug from another cabinet and set it in the sink. He poured the coffee through the strainer into the second mug, cleaned his coffee of the offending particles, and returned to the table.

He picked up the book he had left open on the table the night before and read the first line of the chapter. This wasn’t my page, Charlie realized. He flipped back to the previous chapter. Nope. Back another chapter. Nope. He looked at the book cover. This isn’t the right book, he conceded. Charlie gave up and went back to the coffee.

He sipped the less grainy coffee and looked outside. A bird pecked at insects in the tree outside. He pulled a nearby table over and put his feet up. Every morning seemed a forced reminder that he was getting older. His hips needed an extra hour in the morning to stretch. His mind was hazy until he had the chance to drink a few cups of coffee. Still, he always admitted, it beat the shit out of working.

The front door opened as a golden retriever ran over to his side and put his wet paw on Charlie’s leg. “Hey, buddy,” he spoke aloud for the first time that morning. Charlie never minded the dog’s stubborn refusal to grow up. He switched the coffee to the other hand and scratched the dog behind his ears. The retriever thanked him by setting his wet head on Charlie’s knee.

A woman followed the dog through the open door and hung her coat on the wall. “Oh good, you’re up. How are you feeling?”

“Just woke up,” Charlie said, “solid morning though”. Charlie sipped again from the coffee only to refill his mouth with more grounds. He thought to spit the coffee back into the mug, but accepted the morning’s fate and swallowed. Not the worst.