The Day

I struggle to remember the day. Tuesday? I struggle to remember the month. Is it still February? No, must be March now. If not for my body’s internal circadian rhythm, I would struggle to remember what time it is, but I just woke up, so that must mean it’s about noon. Fuck.

I groan and stir in bed, shoving my face into my flat pillow, thinking about how the days just keep coming. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, and the next–what’s the point of it all? I’m drifting through time, not living, but simply existing. Sometimes I don’t know if I’m brave or cowardly to continue persisting just to see this to the end if this will ever end. I’m mean, surely, this will all come to an end–as all things do. Right?

Maybe, today will be different, I hopelessly ponder as I did the day before, and the day before then, and the day before then. I pull myself out of the tangled sheets that restrain my body begging me to stay in bed as I did the day before, and the day before then, and the day before then. I lazily brush my teeth and wash my face all while looking at a reflection I could hardly recognize as I did the day before, and the day before then, and the day before then. 

My face is distorted with dark eye bags that are all too telling of my night owl habits. I’m skinnier than when I remember–back when I used to remember the days. My long disheveled hair urges me to go get a haircut. I look to grab my face cream to finish my daily bathroom routine when I grab the bottle with the confidence of a full bottle only to be met by an empty one. Wow, when did I use all of this??? I could have sworn I just bought it the other day... 

I grab my mask and head out to the store.

I walk down the skincare products aisle, mindlessly. Doing everyday tasks out of mere necessity, I’ve learned that I have an autopilot mode. I stop, almost mechanically, at the face creams that I regularly get. Maybe, I should switch it up. I surprised myself by going off-script. But if I want my days to be different, why not start with my face cream? My scrutinizing eyes wander across the various products landing on one that had a single product left. Must be good if there’s only one left. I reach down to grab it to read what it promises to do and the active ingredients. Can’t trust any products these days without heavy investigation. 

That’s when my hand meets yours–yours that was also reaching for the same last face cream. I blink in surprise. How did I not notice a whole ‘nother person get this close in vicinity to me? I really must be out of it because when my eyes settle on you, I can’t believe I missed you. You were so radiant, my eyes had to dart to the floor in recoil to the sudden exposure. I was embarrassed at how disheveled I was in your presence. 

It was apparent I haven’t had any social interaction in days through my bashful and embarrassing response, “Err, uh, did you want that?” I wince at myself.

”Well, if I didn’t want it, why would I reach for it?” you wittingly retort.

”Good point.”

“I’ll be kind enough to give you this one,” you add with a playful tone. Your eyes crinkle hinting at your smile beneath your mask. “I still have some left at home. I was just trying to be proactive.”

"Well, I was just trying to pick out a new face cream. Do you recommend this one?" I surprised myself again. I don't speak to strangers, but something was enticing about you that I couldn't shake. The words were just pouring out on their own. 

"Why would I use a cream for myself that I wouldn't recommend to others?" you jokingly question, your eyebrows burrowing in faux confusion.

"Ok, another good point."

"I'm sorry," you giggle. "I can come off a bit strong. But, yes this cream has earned my complete stamp of approval."

I pick up the face cream and glance back at you. Sociable people who can so easily talk to complete strangers really amaze me. They seem to always have themselves together–never struggling to get out of bed some mornings or forget to brush their teeth some nights. I envy that. I envy you.

"And, tell me why it's earned your stamp of approval," I inquire–my glance lingering on your eyes before quickly darting back to the product in question. 

"Hmm. Well, I've tried many-a creams," you start, using your hands in dramatic hand-motions to add to your tale. "And none really make me feel like my skin's been kissed by an angel quite like this one."

"Wow, that's high praise," I couldn't help but smile. 

"Haha, but seriously, it's not heavy, but makes you feel fully hydrated. No bad ingredients, trust me, I do my research. Satisfaction guaranteed" You speak with intimidating confidence that makes me feel like I'm speaking with the moon herself as a lowly admiring wave being pulled by the gravity of your bearing. 

"Ok, I'm sold," I say. "Is there a number I can call for my money back if I'm not satisfied?" Oh my god, did I just ask for your number? If I was in a cartoon, a nervous bead of sweat would be falling from my temples right about now.

You looked taken aback by sudden my request–as was I–, but that doesn't last long. You laugh and reply simply by extending out your hand. 

It takes me a second to realize you're demanding my phone. 

I embarrassingly fumble to get my phone out of my back pocket. I quickly unlock it and navigate to the new contact form. I place my phone in your hand. You take the phone, tap away on the screen for seconds that felt like minutes, and hand the phone right back to me.

The screen that stared back at me was not the contact screen that I was expecting but the message screen. You had sent yourself a message to assumably get my number. Your contact read "cute girl from the store". The text read, "Cute guy from the store."

The day is March 3rd, 2021. The day I met you and the day some glimmer in me hoped that not all things come to an end.