Wednesday

I woke on Christmas morning to a quiet and dark house. My first thought was that I was alone, but when I got out of bed to make myself a cup of coffee, I found my roommate’s door to be cracked open with her asleep in the bed. I stared for a moment, and then my eyes went to the tree that stood in the living room. It was unplugged, and there were no presents under it. I looked back at my roommate; though she was there, at home for now, I knew it would soon be just me.

I tried my best to move silently around the kitchen, so I would not wake her—slowly opening cabinets and drawers to avoid creaks and clanging glassware, tiptoeing back to my bedroom at the opposite end of the house. Back in my room, I told myself that it was Christmas, but it just felt like Wednesday. I thought about my family. My mother and father and my brother and sister. Their tree would be plugged in with presents under it, but I tell myself to forget about it.

Eventually my roommate woke. My bedroom light was on so she opened the door. She asked me how long I had been up and I replied that it had not been that long, though really it had been a couple hours by that point. I offered to make us breakfast—eggs and toast—and while it was cooking, she excused herself to make phone calls to family and friends. I could hear her from her bedroom, “Merry Christmas!”

I looked over to my own phone and tapped the screen. I stared at my wallpaper until the screen went dark again. I do not know why I bothered.

I plated her food and took a seat at the table with my own plate. I called to her that breakfast was ready. She told me she would be just minute. I waited for her. When she sat down, she thanked me for the meal, and we both pretended the food was not cold.

After breakfast she suggested we play a board game and I agreed. We played a 4+ player game with only 2 people and neither of us mentioned the awkwardness of it. We continued until one of us won the game, and when it was over, she asked if I wanted to play a card game. I knew what she was doing; she would trifle with me for an hour or two, but I was not the main event. She just didn’t want me to feel alone on the holiday. She had something she was looking forward to; plans at a friend’s house where there would be laughter, and life, and warmth. I was just helping her pass the time while simultaneously making her feel like she is doing the right thing.

We never finished the card game. She told me she had to start getting ready. I said that it was fine. Leave the cards on the table, she said.

“I’ll be home by 9 and we can finish playing.”

“Okay.”

After she had gone, I found myself thinking that all this was my own fault. I failed to make friends in my youth. I was too quiet. I kept to myself too much. If I had talked to people more when I was younger then maybe I would not be by myself now, but it was too late to fix that.

I found some ways to pass the time. I cleaned my room, I did the dishes, I started a load of laundry, and I read my book. It all kept me busy for a while, but the day was passing at the slow pace. I reminded myself again that it was Christmas, a holiday. But I couldn’t stop with thinking that it was just Wednesday, a day off work.

I thought about my family again. I checked the time and figured they would be preparing dinner. My mother would be complaining about the oven not working properly as she did every year, though really, she just never sets a timer. My father would be insisting the oven was not broken, and my brother and sister would be stealing bits of food from what was already prepared. I thought about making dinner for myself in that moment. That way I could do what they were doing just much farther away, but I pushed the notion out of my head. They always ate too early, and I wasn’t very hungry anyway.

I did eat, eventually. But it wasn’t for another few hours. In the time between I started to forget what day it was once again, but every now and then I would check my phone for a notification that I knew wouldn’t be there and I would see the date and be reminded again. I told myself once or twice that Christmas was just a day like any other; Monday last year, Wednesday this year, Thursday next year. But I didn’t know what next year would be like, and I was back home with my family last year.

I made spaghetti for dinner. I found a jar of sauce and an opened box of noodles in the pantry. I wasn’t anything grand, but it would fill my stomach and I would have would leftovers to take to work with me the next day. I ate in silence, did the dishes once again, and collected my clothes from the dryer. It was almost 10 by the time everything was done. I knew this morning when she said it that she wouldn’t be home by 9, and I knew she wasn’t running late. Nevertheless, I kept the cards on the table as she told me to do.

I showered, I brushed my teeth, and I checked the time. 10:45pm.

I shut the lights off in the kitchen and went to my room. I hung out for a while listening for the garage door to open. I planned on asking her how her evening was, but 10:45 turned into 11:45, so I shut the lights off in my room as well. My family would still be in the living room at this hour, sipping on sparkling grape juice. My brother would be telling of the newest girl he was pursuing and why the last one didn’t work out. My sister would be spilling all the work drama, and my parents would be giving advice on both topics. The longing to be back there with them started to squeeze at my chest, but I told myself to let it go. I plugged my phone into my charger right at midnight. I worked in the morning and I couldn’t wait around any longer for her. I got under my covers and shut my eyes. I don’t know the exact time the garage door opened. I didn’t bother to look. Christmas was over by then. It was now Thursday, December 26^th. The one-year anniversary of my family’s death.