7days7authors

Monday - The Disappearance of Michael Dobbins - David McGovern

 The fire alarm goes off awaking Joseph from his light slumber.  Slowly surrendering to consciousness Joseph blindly stumbles from the security of the bed to the hallway outside his bedroom.  The parquet floor feels refreshingly cool to his bare feet in his humid, stagnant garden apartment.  He reaches up towards the kitchen ceiling and fumbles with the rudimentary locking system which keeps the smoke detector mounted to the wall.  After a few uncoordinated moments Joseph releases the device from the wall and with both hands brings it down to waist level. He tries to stick what little is left of freshly clipped finger nails behind the batteries base.  After four attempts nail gets enough leverage and the battery comes out, but the noise does not stop.  Joseph pauses for a second before setting the smoke detector on the kitchen counter.  He tilts his head to the left, trying to give his right ear a better angle to detect the source of the sound.

Joseph turns on his heels.  On the slick floor he haphazardly spins 180 degrees and is facing his bedroom door.  He purposefully heads through the doorway and is immersed in the smell of himself in the heavy warm air: stale gym clothes, spearmint gum, dirty hair, fabric cleaner bearing spring’s name.  All the movement has jostled the sleep from his eyes and fog from the brain.  The small clock-radio on the three drawer particle board dresser next to the bed is blinking and blaring a harsh grating tone every second on the second.   Joseph extends his left hand to press the long rectangular button above the clock’s digital readout.

As the button clicks into place silence returns to the apartment.  Joseph sits on the edge of the bed and the frame creeks from his weight.  Resting his left arm on his left thigh he raises his right hand to scratch the back of his head.

“I am not hungry.”

Joseph rests his right hand on his right thigh.

“I need to pee.”

Raising slowly from the bed Joseph shuffles to the bathroom.  He leaves the door open after entering and stares at the floor.

“fucking filthy.”

Hair, pubic and otherwise, along with an assortment of minuscule specks which could possibly be dirt, plant mass, or even ant corpses.

Lifting the front of his boxers down Joseph relaxes and stares at the framed picture immediately in front of him. 

“I am not sleeping enough.”

Instead of focusing on the wood cut black and white print of a fisherman holding a lamb Joseph hones in on the reflection of himself in the glass.  Under his eyes are subtle, but visible even in reflection, ashen purple swollen regions. 

Lifting the front of the boxers above his waist Joseph flushes the toilet.  He turns to the sink and turns the faucet on with his other hand.  He scrubs both hands without the aid of soap and dries them without the aid of a towel - he rubs each hand absent mindedly on thighs, using his boxers to absorb the moisture.

Into the kitchen for the second time that morning Joseph ignores the smoke detector and it’s battery on the counter.  He heads for the small cabinet  above the refrigerator.  Opening the cabinet door with his right hand he pulls down a twenty-five and one quarter ounce box of Cheerios with the left.  Reaching into the dishwasher Joseph places the large cereal box on the counter next to a fingerprint smudged pint glass, an image of a goose head in profile is screen printed on the side.  Pulling open the bottom rack of the dishwasher Joseph briefly surveys the array of pots, plates and bowls.  He selects a small white bowel with a thin lime green circle along the rim of the bowl.  He sets the bowl next to the box and opens the cardboard flaps of the cereal.  Reaching inside he grabs the plastic bag containing the Cheerios.  Unrolling the bag Joseph tips the opening of the box toward the bowl.  Cherrios yield to gravity and tumble out, at first musically, then muffled as the cereal’s population reaches the bowl’s capacity.

After closing the box flaps, but not reclosing the plastic bag inside, Joseph returns the cereal to the cabinet above the refrigerator.  He then opens the refrigerator door and removes first a pint of skim milk and then a gallon of pulp-free, vitamin D added orange juice.  Joseph first pours the orange juice into the smudged pint glass and then pours the milk into the bowl.  A spoon is taken from a drawer on the other side of the kitchen.  The Blue handled plastic spoon is promptly harpooned into the bowl.  The fragile Cheerio surface yields to the force of the utensil.

Reentering the bedroom, Joseph sets bowl and glass down upon his work desk, using scraps of paper and open envelopes as an eclectic but functional placemat.  He reaches for the light switch. Pushing the top half of the plastic square kicks the 60 watt bulb and ceiling fan into life.  As the air begins to circulate around the bedroom Joseph turns his attention to the small promotional single picture 12 month calendar next to the light switch on the wall.

The picture is of his cousin Rodrigo wearing pink jeans, a pink t-shirt and pink sunglasses.  Rodrigo is barefoot leaning on the hood of a yellow convertible parked on a palm tree lined street in Los Angeles.  The covered eyes are toward the camera and his left hand raises a pink frosted doughnut to the mouth.

“Today is Wednesday.  No.  Today is Thursday. Yes. Thursday.”

Joseph puts his index finger to the last week in April.

“twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth, thirtieth …”

Joseph shifts weight from his left to right foot

“Thursday May first.”

He swallows thickly and tentatively licks his lips:

“Rabbit rabbit.”