I pull the cab over to the curb, the point of destination reached. Both the inside and outside of the bar is crowded and I can already see people who have had to much. My passengers unload in a drunken ramble as I receive payment from the one that still can be classed as "reasonably sober". Before he closes the door he slurs something I don't quite understand, or for that matter care to hear, and I simply smile and gives a small wave as an answer.
I watch them cross the road and join the crowd outside the bar, and shake my head slightly. Was I ever that young and stupid? Boastful stories of how many women they'll get tonight, and how fun they'll have, when we all know they're already to drunk to even remember it tomorrow. No, I was never that stupid. Or that young for that matter.
I didn't have that privilege.
The silence in the cab is suddenly painfully loud. I sigh deeply and change my status to "Available" and lean back in my not so comfortable seat. I try to wipe the tiredness away from my face and eyes, without great success. Nine hours. Nine hours of this shift done. Another four to go. I look in the rear view mirror and see my own eyes. They look old. Older than they should. I'm only 24 but look and act a decades older. I stroke the gray hairs in my beard thoughtfully. Catty says they make me look distinguished.
I just feel I haven't earned them just yet.
Catty..
I look at the clock. 23:21. She has probably going to sleep soon. We've been together five years. During those years I can count on my fingers how many times we haven't gone to bed together, to fall asleep in each others arms. Now, all of a sudden, it's each and every night. I miss her. I miss her closeness.
I wonder how it went with putting the children to bed. Damn. Even though I saw them during the afternoon after I woke up, and hugged them goodbye before I went to work, it feels like I haven't seen them in weeks. I wonder if Saga cried after I left. She usually does. And if she waved and blew kisses out the window before she went to bed, as she have started doing since daddy isn't home.
I shake my head violently. The last four hours won't go quicker by thinking about those things. I once again try to wipe away the tiredness, but it just won't go away. I rub my hands together and raise the heat in the car a bit. I try to keep it cold in the car so that the drunks are less likely to puke. At least it's been working so far.
As I rub my hands, I realizes how soft they are. In my previous employments I always worked with my hands. Construction, electrician, groundskeeper. And as I worked my hands got rough and hardy. I liked that. It was like a proof of my hard labor. But now their soft.
"A man is what he can do with his own to hands..."
My grandfathers words make themselves reminded. Words I have tried to live by. His hands are a monument of labor. Of a lifetimes worth of hard work, and as a child I dreamed of having hands like he.
But now their soft.
A signal sounds out, and informs me that I have yet another fare, and pulls me from my train of though. I'm pretty glad it did, because I had no intention of finding out where those tracks would have taken me. I start driving, with the goal to make the last hours of this shift go by as painless as possible.
Four hours later I punch out, clean out my cab, and get in my own car. 20 minutes drive home. The heater in my car is broken, so I sit as still as possible while I'm driving, trying to preserve warmth. My neck, shoulders and back hurt like hell after sitting in a cab for thirteen cohesive hours, but at least I'm home soon. At 3 am a Sunday morning I'm pretty much alone on the road. I only meet one pair of lonely headlights in the night, and I can't help but wonder what kind of fool is out driving at this time, and laugh dryly as I realizes that I am just that kind of fool.
When I finally get home I've lost the sensation of my feet and hands. I try as silently as possible to unlock the front door with unfeeling hands, and sneak in on frozen feet.
I smile to myself as I see that every light is on in the house. Not wanting to be alone in the dark, Catty left them all on. I hang of my jacket and take off my shoes and start walking round the house, turning the lights of one by one, and methodically letting the darkness into our home. When I'm done I walk into the bedroom to find Catty sound asleep. A expression of serenity on her beautiful face.
Maybe she knows that I'm home now.
I start to undress, starting with the noose they call a tie and undo the top button on my shirt, and for the first time in hours I'm able to breath freely. As I gasp air into my lungs, my shoulders and back reminds me of their pain. I suppress a groan, and try to feebly massage the affected areas. Instinctively I look at my watch and can't manage to suppress the groan that follows. 04:46. The kids will wake up around seven. So a little more than two hours. I look at Catty and I see a small expression of sorrow ghosting across her features as she turns in the bed. I would like nothing more than to lie down next to her and wrap my arms around her, and pull her close. But I can't. My head is tiered, my body sore, and my soul heavy, but I can't.
It doesn't feel like I've deserved it yet.
Instead I go out for a smoke. Letting the tar, smoke and cold air fill my lungs. A part of wonders why I feel like this. But the rest of me have no interest or will to contemplate such things right now. I've had enough of thoughts for one night. I put out my cigarette and go inside.
"Is that you, honey..?"
Catty's sweet voice is like a blissful relief from the silence in the house. I nearly break down just by hearing her voice. I almost start crying from the relief that the sound of her voice grants me. I'm a second away from running into the bedroom to embrace her. I want to tell her everything. To vomit all my thoughts and feelings over her, hoping that she will make everything better, like she's done so many times before.
But I don't.
I clench my fists and grit my teeth as I answer her.
"Yes, it's me honey. Go back to sleep, and I'll come to bed soon.." I lie to her. She mumbles an answer and drift of into sleep again. I stand in silence a moment that seems to last an hour before I go to sit down at the computer. In two hours the kids will wake up. I will make them breakfast and spend the morning with them. I will let Catty sleep, and make her a cup of coffee when she wakes up. That's the least I can do for her.
And now I'm sitting here, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me...
