carousel - Elizabeth Spartas The Carousel Every Monday...

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Elizabeth Spartas The Carousel Every Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Each of these days he went to work. He arrived promptly at 7:56 each morning, having spent forty-five minutes on the train. The train was shaped like a bullet, and silver. Rather, it once was silver. Over time the glistening steel that had constructed its body had gradually become tarnished. During his time on the train he would sit reading The New York Times . As his eyes scanned the pages he robotically sipped cheap coffee-stand coffee. Despite the hundreds of expensive coffees from all around the world that he had to choose from he would always choose this. There was just something about sipping cheap coffee from a cardboard cup. Besides, he liked the friendly greeting Joe gave him every morning as he stepped up to the window of Coffee Hut. The manner he went through the paper was very methodical. He would first begin with the headlines of each of the front pages of each section. He would then check to see how whichever of his sports teams that was in season was doing. Then switch to world news (this section bored him, but he felt he should be informed). Finally, after scanning the rest of the paper for anything of interest Dan would take out his very expensive fountain pen (a gift from his wife, along with a nice leather briefcase, upon promotion) and start his Sudoku. Sudoku was so very simple- all you had to do was organize the numbers; each had its correct place. As the train slowed to a stop he would look up surprised, having been completely consumed in his puzzle, and stand up so as to push through the crowd of people and begin his race to his office building. He rushed, as quickly as possible without breaking into a jog, up the street to his building. The elevator was out of order; it had been for 7 months 23 days- he could feel the sweat building as he climbed the stairs- taking them two at a time. Upon arriving at the office he would sit at his desk, switch his computer on and glance at his Rolex watch- 7: 56, four minutes to spare, as always. Everyday at the office was grey. Nothing was good or bad, nothing was successful or unsuccessful- everything just was. Dan would sit there watching the clock tick, tick, tick away.
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Elizabeth Spartas He’d count the number of ticks between each number, not in anticipation of passing time, but merely to see if the clock was, in fact, correct. Dan just was. The ticks of the clock just were. Everything just was. This is how everything was day after day- time kept moving (he could tell because of counting the ticks and also the grey hairs that kept appearing on his scalp) but his life wasn’t moving. He had reached a standstill. On a Tuesday he got up after hitting the snooze button on his alarm four times, as he did every morning. He pulled back the forest green sheets, stood, and put on his K-mart slippers.
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