Deja vu

Monday morning, the 15^th, Becky cross’ the date off with a red marker, keeping track of the days of the week. ‘Monday, Tuesday, yeah, that’s it, today is Monday, right?” Becky muses to herself, gulping down the coffee before grabbing her keys from the bathroom counter. “Simple,” Becky said to herself, trudging down the steps from her one-room flat to the hotel’s lobby. ‘Hope, there has to be hope,’ seeing the clientele that’s now calling the hotel their home as more people lost their jobs because of the pandemic.

Becky, her eyes cast down, avoiding their eyes, who, unlike her, don’t have work. She feels guilty, being able to have a job since the first wave of the COVID-19 virus spread across the country, being on the front line. A duty that both she and her colleagues take to heart, caring for the sick and dying. ‘That’s what people do,’ her co-worker, Mary Jane, said, ‘helping one another.’ It’s how Becky keeps on going, believing that she can make a difference in someone's life.

“Life matters” is what her mother used to say whenever Becky felt discouraged, and it’s those words that give her hope amid chaos. “Monday’, Becky whispers, walking to the “Medical Clinic” a few blocks from her home, “It’s Monday, the 15^th,’ reminding herself while being greeted by one of the staff, taking people's temperature before entering.  “Normalcy, if there is such a thing anymore.” Becky sighs. 

“Go ahead. You’re clear,” the girl announces. Becky’s mask and gloves are in place. another added protection, a reminder that things are changing. “Nothing stays the same,” twirling her lanky hair, waiting to step into the elevator before its doors close shut, rattling its way up to the fifth floor.

A wave of fear, a feeling of Deja Vu, “The 15^th,” Becky said, under her breath, the call bells echoing through the halls, nurses already scrambling from one room to the next. ‘Typical, for a Monday,’ Becky thought, though, ‘something was different,’ ambling toward her office.

Mary Jane peeks inside Becky’s office, “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Becky answers, turning on her coffee maker.

“I’m so glad that it’s Wednesday,”

Becky raises her eyebrow and asks, “It’s the 15^th, right?”

Mary Jane answers, “Yea, it’s Wednesday the 15^th,” before disappearing down the hallway.

‘How did I lose two days?’ Becky ponders, ‘No, it can’t be Wednesday,’ arguing with herself, “It’s Monday, I am sure of it,” warming her hands as she sips coffee.  The streets below her window are silent, as occasionally a car or two can be spotted, not like it was before. An eerie quietness seems to overshadow the city, something straight out of a horror movie, like the “Body Snatchers’, goosebumps running down Becky’s spine.  A knock on her door pulling her back to the present. Suzy, the receptionist, Becky motions for her to come in.

 Wiping the corner of her mouth, Becky asks, “How can I help you?”

“Um..., it’s Wednesday, and you um..., uh, didn’t send me any updates about who’s on call for the weekend.”

“I didn’t cause it’s only Monday.”

Suzy tilted her head and said with furrow brows, “No, it’s Wednesday,” closing the door behind her. Taking in a tiny intake of air, she peers out the window. ‘No,’ sipping her coffee, “I can't be wrong,” saying partly to herself and the four walls. Becky visualizes crossing off the date before grabbing her keys and then going down to the lobby and finally walking here. Every piece fits perfectly, so how can today be Wednesday the 15^th and not Monday? 

With a lit tap on the door, peering inside, Mary Jane asks, “Becky, are you okay?” strolling into the room, sits down, crosses her legs.

“Uh?” Becky said, taking one more look outside, before turning around to answer, “Sure, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“I just talked to Suzy, and she mentioned that you still think today is Monday.”

“I know what day it is,” the wheels of her chair roll across the plastic mat, sitting down behind her desk, opening a drawer retrieving a desk calendar—thumbing through its pages, stopping at Monday the 13^th. Becky’s eyes blink in disbelief, glimpse up at Mary Jane. 

“I could have sworn that today is Monday the 15^,” she whispers, continuing flipping through until Wednesday the 15^th Becky realizes that somehow two days are missing from her life. She feels her face grow flush, taking a quick breath of air.

“I’m sorry it’s… um…, “

“I know, it’s hard keeping track of what day of the week it is,” Mary Jane said, turning around to leave, “It happens to all of us at one time or another”

‘This had never happened to me before,’ Becky said under her breathe, pouring herself another cup of coffee, going back to the window to watch the people walking below.   A sense of dread washes over her, a feeling of loss, everything that she did to keep the days from slipping from one day to another.

Still, as her father would say, "life is too short to worry," prompting Becky to push back the cobwebs of fear. Taking a deep breath, she heads toward the elevator amid the staff going about the ‘normal’ business, only a few noticing her. ‘A typical busy day,’ she muses, with the weekend schedule in hand for Suzy. She is still wondering how two days had disappeared without her being aware of anything strange.

“Oh, well,” waiting for the elevator doors to open, quickly stepping inside before they close

Riding this ‘tin box’ as it shakes and rattles its way down to the lobby, the doors open into the large room, sunlight filtering through the glass doors.  Outside are people waiting in line to be screen before entering the building, with the same girl taking temperatures.

“Yep, everything is the same,” ambling toward Suzy’s desk. “Heres’ the schedule.”

“Thanks, but you didn’t need to bring it down to me. You could have just emailed it,”

“I know, but, well, I owe you an apology for this morning.”

Suzy adjusts her glasses, “That’s okay, we all make mistakes,”

Upon returning to the elevator, two men are chatting, “So how was your weekend?”

“Too short,”

“Yea, I know what ya mean,” the other man answers.

The elevator doors open, as the one man said, “Well, heres’ to Monday.” when the doors close.