A Few Minutes

I switch on the bedside lamp. Cool. I'm plus one today. Three hundred and sixty-five days of ... everything.

After a few seconds of staring at the ceiling, trying hard not to think of the cruel words he said yesterday, I raise myself from the bed and sit at the edge.

My phone beeps. Then it beeps again. Text messages. Maybe birthday wishes. I sigh and glance at the clock on the bedside table. 3:05 a.m. No. I won't read them. I need music. I need a sweet voice singing over a slow beat to grief with me. Some heartbreak song. Hope I have one. I reach for my phone behind me and tap to the music app, noticing fifteen messages and four missed calls on the home screen.

I plug in my earphones and press play.

The song is not about heartbreak, but it's perfect for reminiscing about the good times we shared. And the bad times. And the crazy times. Oh damn! Today is ruined already.

"I hate you!" I hear myself say as if he's standing in front of me.

Then the music is interrupted just after I lie on the bed. My phone vibrates. I wait for several seconds before raising it to see who's calling.

"My Matt" displays on the screen. My heart skips; the next second I'm angry with myself for still having his number. I place the phone beside me.

He calls again. I reject it.

He calls again. I answer it.

"Happy birthday, Julia. Please, we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

He's quiet for a moment, and I'm about to hang up.

"I regret all that has happened. It was all my fault. I'm downstairs."

I jump out of bed and rush to the window. Peeping, his car is parked behind mine. The headlights are on.

"Um..."

"Please," he breaks in.

"Okay," I say.

Suddenly, it feels like I'm going to have a beautiful day.

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A 10-minute freewrite.

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Image source: Pixabay
@jeffways