waking up.

Everybody has a favorite part of the day. Maybe it’s the part of the day where they think the most clearly, sipping their morning coffee. Maybe it’s the part where they’re surrounded by the most friends, enjoying a cold beer at the end of the workday. Or maybe it’s that part of their day where they are finally alone, alone with their thoughts. I once knew a girl who, at the very moment she awoke, she was the very happiest she would be all day. It didn’t matter what time of day, either. Five-thirty a.m., she’d open her eyes while the sun casually peeked in through her drawn shades. And she’d have the biggest smile on her face. Similarly, she could wake up at noon / with a pounding hangover / and still have the biggest, most ridiculous smirk pasted to her face, as if to say ‘I made it.’

But as the minutes passed, seconds even, she fell into the daily routine. Something about getting out of bed, brushing her teeth, going to work, and being just like all the rest caused that smile to melt right off her face, leaving an ice cold stare. That smile rarely made it past her doorstep onto the city bus that she took to work.

Sure, she did a fine job. And she never missed a day of work. She was even nominated for employee of the month once. She may have not been the most enthusiastic, but at least she was genuine. She knew how to do her job and that’s just what she did. I still don’t know what motivated her to get on that bus every morning though. It could have been the paycheck, surely, but it could very well be the peace of mind knowing that, at the end of the day she gets to fall asleep. And 99.99% of the time, this will be followed by waking up.

On the bus, kept her eyes closed, not necessarily because she was tired, but because she didn’t want to look at the people around her. Every day there was someone new, coughing into their sleeve, sneezing into the aisle, or hobbling in on crutches. “I swear, one of these days, I’m going to open my eyes and I’m going to be the only person left” she mentioned to the bus driver one of the last days she took the bus. She had memorized the number of stops between her house and workplace, 8 stops. This way, she could keep her eyes closed the whole time. She even knew certain road marks along the way, road marks that she could hear or feel. For example, between stops 7 and 8 there are four potholes in the road that the driver never cares to avoid. Near stop 3 there is a bread factory. When she smells yeast and rising dough, she knows exactly where she is and that she is approximately 18 minutes away from work. One morning, she fell asleep at stop 5, only to be woken up (by the potholes) right before her stop. She almost missed her stop, she knew this, but she was smiling.

Not that she’s a perfect specimen of a healthy young woman. In a way, I think that’s why her smile doesn’t get too far from her musty, second hand mattress. 27 years old and every bone in her body seems to crack when she rises out of bed. She can feel the tendons shifting over her muscles as if they also fell asleep and have to roll back into place in the morning. “These organic sounds, they remind me… eerily … of the creaking lumber of a casket being lowered into the earth.” She told me one morning over coffee, her eyes existing as part of a blank stare, lost somewhere in the cream swirling around the edges of her coffee.

“Maybe you should try stretching,” I commented. “You know, just 20 or 30 minutes a day, to keep your joints loose.”

“I’ve tried that. Really, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. And the way I see it, why waste your life doing something that you don’t truly enjoy?”

“True, but aren’t there always exceptions? For example, what about standing in lines? Nobody ever likes doing that.”

“It may not be the most fun thing in the world, but I do some of my best thinking when I am waiting in lines. “

“Okay, well how about your job? Some people have entire careers they come to hate, but still slide through the system until retirement. What about your job, what is it that you do, anyway?”

“I work at a slaughterhouse.”

“Those still exist? It sounds so barbaric.”

“Well, there’s still a need for them. It’s a bit more advanced than it used to be. Basically, it’s three rooms, each separated by knee high barriers. The first room is where the healthy cows are, well, slaughtered. The second is where unhealthy cows are fed, doctored, and brought back to good enough health so they too can be slaughtered. The third room is where I work. It’s where pregnant cows give birth. It’s my job to see that the newly born heifers are taken from their mothers within 15 minutes of birth and brought to the feeding room. Once there, I assist in their daily growth.”

“Don’t you feel bad… taking them away from their mothers?”

“Initially, yes, but the moment these young cows open their eyes they’re exposed to their own population either sick, dying, or being killed. Even though their life will surely end the same way, I find solace knowing that it is because of me that they can be removed from it, of only temporarily, and grow up strong.”

“Hmmpfh. Sounds like someone I know.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

“Oh, well, I’m tired. I’m going to go home and fall asleep.”

“Yea, me too.”