In the Morning

It’s always bitter when the fog of sleep lifts, leaving him to a quiet morning. Will blinks blankly at the ceiling above him, eyes tracing the tracks of mold that peek through peeling paper and paint. It used to disgust him, the excessive grime that grows in this place, but he doesn’t mind it anymore. Will’s too used to it to care. He shifts against the floorboards digging into his back and sits up, leaving his blanket where it falls. It’s cold again. 

Gray light filters in through dirt-stained glass, lighting up the mattress beside him. He braces himself as he turns to face it, forcing his hands to grip the hem of his shirt. He lets out a breath. Faye is still sleeping. Her hair rests in a tangled, honey-colored nest on her pillow. Her face is pale and pinched with hairpin worry lines. Will stares at her for a moment, taking in her tear-swollen eyes and bare fingers, before pulling himself up onto his numb legs. He knows that if he isn’t careful, he’ll reach out for her, and that never ends well anymore. 

He picks up his discarded blanket and drapes it over Faye. He’s relieved when she doesn’t wake up. She hasn’t been sleeping much lately, and the bags under her eyes get darker every day. He’s also unsure if he could handle the way she’d look at him. He sighs and walks over to a small wardrobe, which is shoved into the farthest corner of the room, and pulls out a pair of tattered trousers and a plain white shirt. There’s only enough water for one bath, so Will gets dressed as quickly as possible, ignoring the dust still clinging to his body from yesterday. He’s certain he’ll have another layer of grime on himself by the end of the day anyway. 

Will opens the door to their cramped bedroom with feather fingers, trying hard to ease the rusty hinges open without making a sound. He steps into the next room, a curtained-off combination of a kitchen, sitting room, and bathroom, and heads over to the little icebox resting under the window. It’s hard to see in the dim light, but Will knows there isn’t much to eat. Faye hasn’t been able to cook a real meal in weeks. She used to love to try out new recipes. She’d put on her favorite apron and dance around the kitchen. He doesn’t like to think about that apron, dustily draped over a stool in the corner, because it worsens the pulsing ache in his chest. He sighs through his nose. Memories aside, Will really wishes he could cook up some eggs. He loves to eat them with baby tomatoes and a little bit of cheese, but he grabs a leftover biscuit instead. It crumbles like sand when he bites into it, but at least it will keep him from starving. 

After he finishes his meager breakfast, Will puts on his working boots and gets ready to leave the apartment for the day. He’ll probably head down to the train station again. They always need workers to help move cargo. It’s not the most enjoyable job in the world, but Will lost the right to complain about that a long time ago. He’s just finishing packing away another two biscuits for lunch, lost in his thoughts, when a throat clears behind him. He startles, whirling around with his half-packed lunch sack in hand. What a sight he must be. 

Faye is standing behind him with a small frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. She’s still in her nightgown, the pretty blue one he got her two birthdays ago, and she shivers slightly in the cold morning air. Will wants to wrap her up in a hug and rub her arms until she warms up, but he stays where he is. It hurts that he’s starting to forget what it feels like to hold her, but he knows that pretending everything is okay would hurt her worse. She doesn’t say anything to him. She just walks past him and pulls out a small tin of dried meat. She takes out a small portion of pork, his favorite, and lays it on the counter beside one of the biscuits. He opens his mouth to protest, but the look she shoots him makes him clamp his lips together again. 

She never used to look at him like that. She used to smile at him with apple red cheeks and bright green eyes. Every time she looked at him like that, his heart would flutter about his chest like a hummingbird that drank too much coffee. Will’s mother used to say that Faye looked at him like he was a pool of spring water sparkling in the sun. Now she looks at him like he’s a puddle of melted city snow. 

She walks back past him to reenter the bedroom, nightgown ribbons fluttering behind her, and shuts the door tightly behind her. After a few moments he hears the water bucket scraping against the uneven floorboards, and then water slapping the bottom of the washing basin. She must be getting ready for work. He won’t see her again before he leaves. That didn’t used to make him happy. 

Will grabs his lunch, reluctantly adds in the dried meat, and heads out the door. He makes sure it locks behind him before making his way down the cramped hallway. The air in here always smells like mildew and rotting wood. It creeps into his nose like the landlord upstairs likes to creep about the building. Will can’t stand the man, but this is the only place that they can afford right now. 

He makes his way out of the building and steps into the smoggy New York air. It’s freezing out, and cold bites at Will’s body with vicious glee. He smiles without mirth and starts walking toward the train station. 

He sinks into the crowd of people moving in a stream down the pavement, slouching his shoulders and ducking his head. No one looks at him, and he doesn’t look at anyone else. The Depression has had a toll on everyone, and now people just want to mind their own business and get by. Automobiles buzz loudly down the street next to them, occasionally spraying ice-slushed mud up onto the sidewalk. 

Will only has to walk two blocks before he makes it to the train station, but he pauses a couple buildings from the entrance. He looks up at the dilapidated building in front of him with grim lines on his face. The wave of people moves around him, and he walks up to the front window to peer through the boards. Tarp-covered poker tables somberly stare back at him. He hates himself a little more for missing how it used to look, back when it was all lit up. This bar is part of the reason that his marriage is falling apart. He wishes that he could go back and never walk in here, but he also clings to the memories of when he did. 

He turns away from the window and rejoins the crowd. 

.

Will makes it into the station just as the company managers start picking men to load freight for the day. He curses under his breath and runs over, shoving his way to the front of the crowd. The men around him shove viciously with everything they have—elbows, knees, and even fists. Will does the same. The station can only take on so many workers a day, and jobs are hard to come by. Will makes it to the front of the crowd, and one of the managers points at him. He’s in for the day. 

He leaves the crowd and joins the men on the loading platform, feeling lighter than before. They don’t have to wait for any instructions about the job. They’ve been doing work like this for over a year now. Will grabs a crate and takes it onto the first train compartment. The cracking wood leaves splinters in his hands, and he winces at the grating sensation it creates when he sets the crate back down. 

He works for hours, loading boxes and sacks onto the trains. Then, he works for hours more taking incoming freight off. It’s days like today when he really misses working on his manuscripts. His old office was warm and quiet. It was the exact opposite of this place. 

When they’re on the last train of the day, someone comes up and slaps him on the shoulder. He feels his heart jump like a rabbit into his throat. He whirls around to see a tall man with cropped brown hair and a smirk that reeks of Queens. He smiles slightly and clasps the other man’s hand. 

“How are you, Charles?” he asks, stepping up to the train cart to grab another sack. “I haven’t seen you around here in awhile.” 

Charles grins and runs a hand through his hair. “Oh, just doing this and that. I had to take a trip to see my parents. They’ve been having trouble keeping their shop running with everything that’s going on,” he says. Will’s relieved. He had been worried when Charles stopped showing up. He’s one of the only friends that Will has left, and he needs to support his family too. “How have you been, Will? Have you worked out the issues with Faye yet?” 

Will shakes his head and tosses a sack back to Charles, turning around immediately after to grab another. “No. I’m not even sure how to start. I really wrecked things this time. She won’t even speak to me.” 

Charles frowns lightly and crinkles his brow. “That’s a shame. If you need anything, let me know. Sarah’s been asking after you as well. You know how she worries,” he says.

Will just nods and passes him another sack. 

.

When Will finally walks back into the apartment later tonight, all he will have to show for the day’s work is two dollars and forty cents wrapped up in his lunch sack. At least it’s something. He knows that Faye will only earn a dollar this week for teaching her class, even if she is the hardest worker in that school. He can’t believe how they treat her. It’s not fair, but he can’t do anything about it. She used to rant to him about her day, and she would tell him about her students and how they were doing. Now, he can’t even offer her that comfort.

He runs a dirt-crusted hand down his face and grimaces at the feeling. He shakes himself quickly and puts on a small, strained smile. Maybe he’ll talk to her tonight. Maybe she’ll let him apologize. 

He opens the door to the apartment and steps inside, expecting to see Faye sitting in the kitchen with her dinner and a small wax candle, but the room is dark, and she isn’t here. The place doesn’t look like it’s been touched since this morning, which is strange because Faye always makes it back three hours before Will does.