I?ve never cared much for alarm clocks. I don?t particularly like the notion of a box that displays digital numbers being responsible for making sure that I awaken on time. Think about it: a device tells you when you have to get up. If you let an alarm clock push you around, who?s to say that people shouldn?t be able to do so just as easily?
I told Preston Scott, the man who lives in the apartment next to me, about that one day. Preston laughed and said, ?Oh, Ann, it?s just an alarm clock! Everybody uses one!?
Preston is right about the latter; hell, even I have one. I just use my alarm clock as a back up though because I just about always wake up on my own. I didn?t this morning though.
My alarm clock told me that I had to get up this morning by buzzing tauntingly at 6:15 A.M. Angrily, I shut it off. I sat on the edge of my bed and sighed.
I suppose I had stayed up too late Monday night. There was a huge project for work that I had to stay up and finish. I ended up plugging away on my laptop until 3:00 A.M. I knew that Jack, my boss, would be pleased though.
Thinking about handing that completed project to Jack made me feel so proud and anxious that I soon forgot about not beating my alarm. However, that thought was interrupted by the sound of Preston at my door.
I always can tell when it?s Preston knocking. He knocks twice, pauses, and knocks a third time. I do the same when I go to his apartment. He usually just comes to my place though. However, seeing him this early in the day is odd.
I walked to the door and looked through the peephole. As I expected, I saw nothing. Preston knows I always look to see who is out there, so he always covers the peephole with his finger. Why? Because he?s Preston, I suppose.
I opened the door. Preston looked as though he had either just rolled out of bed or had not slept at all the previous night. His wavy brown hair was a mess, his normally sparkling green eyes were dull and accented by dark circles, and he was wearing a rumpled plaid robe. An empty coffee mug was in his let hand.
?Preston, you look so handsome! Hot date tonight?? I teased.
Preston shook his head slowly and sighed. ?You women are brutal, you know that??
?Yes, and I take great pride in that,? I replied with a smile. ?What?s with the mug??
Preston looked confused. ?Mug??
?The one in your hand?? I pointed.
?Oh yeah,? Preston replied. He looked back at me.
?Coffee?? Preston asked.
?A fine drink,? I answered.
?Got any??
?Yes.?
?Can I have some??
?You have your own coffee maker, Preston.?
?I still do have one, but it?s broken.?
I sighed. ?Your stuff always breaks. If you would just buy nice stuff to begin with, you wouldn?t have any problems.?
Preston scowled. ?Well, not all of us can afford to live the good life, Ann.?
I felt bad when he said that. I guess I had been a bit snooty with my last comment. Preston earns a lot less money than I do. Living in the same apartment complex means that we pay the same for rent, but the insides of our apartments are drastically different. For example, many of my couches and chairs is leather; Preston?s one couch and his chairs look as though he had picked them up from somebody?s curb after dark. Actually, he probably had.
Preston looked annoyed. ?Look, can I have some coffee or not? I?ll pay you back.?
?Yeah, come on in,? I replied. Why don?t you brew a pot, and I?ll join you after my shower.?
?Sure thing.?
Preston busied himself with that, and I took my shower. While I did, I kept thinking about poor Preston (emphasis on the ?poor? part).
Preston works at The Sunrise Home, a place where mentally disabled adults reside and are looked after. While it is noble work, the pay leaves a lot to be desired.
Preston loves working there though. I don?t understand how he can love a job that pays so little, but he does. He says a great job is more important than great pay.
As for me, well, my job is pretty decent. I work for Zap, a large software company located in downtown Lambert. I am Jack?s administrative assistant, and I also collaborate with many other departments, meaning that I have a lot of variety?and responsibilities. The pay is great though, so I really can?t complain.
Money is a driving force in my life. I can?t deny it; I love owning nice things and living the ?good life? as Preston sarcastically called it. But what?s so wrong about wanting nice things, like coffee makers that work and such?
I exited the shower and pulled on my pink terry cloth robe. The aroma of coffee was already drifting to the bathroom. I walked towards the kitchen to join Preston.
Preston was sitting quietly at the kitchen table. For a guy who wanted his coffee so badly this morning, you sure wouldn?t know it by looking at him. He just sat there, stirring his spoon in his mug, a drop of coffee yet to touch his lips.
I poured myself a cup. ?Thanks for making the coffee,? I said quietly, sitting down.
?I wasn?t sure what kind to make,? Preston answered. ?You have like seven different kinds of gourmet crap.?
I laughed. ?Well, I love my coffee, especially that gourmet crap.?
I had expected Preston to at least crack a smile, but he remained quiet and relatively still.
?Okay, Preston, what gives? You look like a zombie today, and you seem just a tad cranky, which is not like you. You better tell me what?s wrong right now or I?ll beat you up,? I jokingly threatened, smiling at him.
Preston finally cracked a smile. ?Ann, you ruthless business woman?always wanting to get right to the point.?
?Damn straight,? I replied. ?So, what?s wrong??
Preston lifted his coffee mug to take his first delicate sip. He set the mug back on the table and sighed. ?Ann, one of our residents at Sunrise is missing.?
?The Home?? I asked, forgetting in my surprise that Preston hates it when I refer to The Sunrise Home simply as ?The Home?. He said it sounds so dank and depressing that way.
?Yes, The Home, Ann,? Preston said, not even sounding angry at my choice of words. ?I was up all night, scouring every corner of Lambert and the surrounding areas.?
?How did he get out?? I asked.
Preston took another sip of coffee. ?Well, first off, it?s not ?he?, it?s ?she?. And, well, you know how it is at Sunrise. Those people aren?t there against their will. We have them sign papers saying that they won?t leave the premises alone for their protection and ours, but we have no way to monitor them all of the time.?
?Well, you should! You are caring for retarded people! You should have baby monitors or something!? I exclaimed. ?You care so much about that place, Preston, that I would have figured you?d have some big old security system on that place!?
Preston wrinkled his brow and set his mug down. He looked angered by my words. I knew I had crossed the line.
?First off, Ann, you know I hate the word ?retarded??it has too negative of a connotation these days. Secondly, we don?t degrade those people by having baby monitors or surveillance cameras in their room or such. Just because they are mentally disabled doesn?t mean that they don?t deserve any privacy. Nothing like this has ever happened before, so we must not be too off base with our methods! We try to give them a good life.?
A good life. There are those words again.
?Does that mean that you try to let them live like me? After all, you commented about me living the good life.?
Preston set his mug down. ?Ann, I was being facetious when I said that. It was an offhand statement. You know, when it comes right down to it, I think that I live the good life.?
I was very surprised by that statement. ?You? The good life??
?You know, Ann, you don?t need money to live the good life. To you, living the good life may involve fancy cars, big screen TV?s, and exotic vacations. For the Sunrise residents, a good life is just having caring people around them. And for me, the good life is any life that I am living?because I will work with whatever I have to make it good.?
Wow. It was such a noble thing to say. Still, it made me sound so?shallow?superficial?however, I knew that now wasn?t the time to try to defend myself.
?Look, if there?s any way I can help??, I began to offer.
Preston stood up. ?No, Ann?thank you, but no. I will be looking all day along with other staff. Once the twenty-four hour period has passed, the police will be helping as well.? He paused. ?Well, if you really want to help, can I come over for coffee again tomorrow morning??
?Sure thing,? I replied. ?You?re brewing though!?
?Just tell me which gourmet crap you want me to brew, Ann,? Preston said, smiling.
?I hope you find your resident, Preston. What is her name??
Preston sighed. ?I?d rather not say, since it?s not necessary for you to know. You know?privacy issues and stuff.?
?I understand,? I replied.
Suddenly, Preston and I heard his telephone ringing back over in his apartment. ?I bet that?s Sunrise!? he said, running back to his room.
I stood up and cleaned up the coffee mess in the kitchen. I was about to go to the bathroom to blow dry my hair when Preston returned.
?They found her,? he said solemnly. ?She?s dead.?
I was shocked. I didn?t know what to say. I?m never good at handling these types of situations.
?Preston,? I began. ?Everything will be okay?? I was at a loss for words.
Preston sighed. ?I guess it?s not worth crying over. I?m sure she is happy now. She must not have been happy at Sunrise. So?perhaps now she is finally living the good life.?
With that, Preston left and went to his apartment.
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
I looked around at my apartment.
Is this really the good life?
I told Preston Scott, the man who lives in the apartment next to me, about that one day. Preston laughed and said, ?Oh, Ann, it?s just an alarm clock! Everybody uses one!?
Preston is right about the latter; hell, even I have one. I just use my alarm clock as a back up though because I just about always wake up on my own. I didn?t this morning though.
My alarm clock told me that I had to get up this morning by buzzing tauntingly at 6:15 A.M. Angrily, I shut it off. I sat on the edge of my bed and sighed.
I suppose I had stayed up too late Monday night. There was a huge project for work that I had to stay up and finish. I ended up plugging away on my laptop until 3:00 A.M. I knew that Jack, my boss, would be pleased though.
Thinking about handing that completed project to Jack made me feel so proud and anxious that I soon forgot about not beating my alarm. However, that thought was interrupted by the sound of Preston at my door.
I always can tell when it?s Preston knocking. He knocks twice, pauses, and knocks a third time. I do the same when I go to his apartment. He usually just comes to my place though. However, seeing him this early in the day is odd.
I walked to the door and looked through the peephole. As I expected, I saw nothing. Preston knows I always look to see who is out there, so he always covers the peephole with his finger. Why? Because he?s Preston, I suppose.
I opened the door. Preston looked as though he had either just rolled out of bed or had not slept at all the previous night. His wavy brown hair was a mess, his normally sparkling green eyes were dull and accented by dark circles, and he was wearing a rumpled plaid robe. An empty coffee mug was in his let hand.
?Preston, you look so handsome! Hot date tonight?? I teased.
Preston shook his head slowly and sighed. ?You women are brutal, you know that??
?Yes, and I take great pride in that,? I replied with a smile. ?What?s with the mug??
Preston looked confused. ?Mug??
?The one in your hand?? I pointed.
?Oh yeah,? Preston replied. He looked back at me.
?Coffee?? Preston asked.
?A fine drink,? I answered.
?Got any??
?Yes.?
?Can I have some??
?You have your own coffee maker, Preston.?
?I still do have one, but it?s broken.?
I sighed. ?Your stuff always breaks. If you would just buy nice stuff to begin with, you wouldn?t have any problems.?
Preston scowled. ?Well, not all of us can afford to live the good life, Ann.?
I felt bad when he said that. I guess I had been a bit snooty with my last comment. Preston earns a lot less money than I do. Living in the same apartment complex means that we pay the same for rent, but the insides of our apartments are drastically different. For example, many of my couches and chairs is leather; Preston?s one couch and his chairs look as though he had picked them up from somebody?s curb after dark. Actually, he probably had.
Preston looked annoyed. ?Look, can I have some coffee or not? I?ll pay you back.?
?Yeah, come on in,? I replied. Why don?t you brew a pot, and I?ll join you after my shower.?
?Sure thing.?
Preston busied himself with that, and I took my shower. While I did, I kept thinking about poor Preston (emphasis on the ?poor? part).
Preston works at The Sunrise Home, a place where mentally disabled adults reside and are looked after. While it is noble work, the pay leaves a lot to be desired.
Preston loves working there though. I don?t understand how he can love a job that pays so little, but he does. He says a great job is more important than great pay.
As for me, well, my job is pretty decent. I work for Zap, a large software company located in downtown Lambert. I am Jack?s administrative assistant, and I also collaborate with many other departments, meaning that I have a lot of variety?and responsibilities. The pay is great though, so I really can?t complain.
Money is a driving force in my life. I can?t deny it; I love owning nice things and living the ?good life? as Preston sarcastically called it. But what?s so wrong about wanting nice things, like coffee makers that work and such?
I exited the shower and pulled on my pink terry cloth robe. The aroma of coffee was already drifting to the bathroom. I walked towards the kitchen to join Preston.
Preston was sitting quietly at the kitchen table. For a guy who wanted his coffee so badly this morning, you sure wouldn?t know it by looking at him. He just sat there, stirring his spoon in his mug, a drop of coffee yet to touch his lips.
I poured myself a cup. ?Thanks for making the coffee,? I said quietly, sitting down.
?I wasn?t sure what kind to make,? Preston answered. ?You have like seven different kinds of gourmet crap.?
I laughed. ?Well, I love my coffee, especially that gourmet crap.?
I had expected Preston to at least crack a smile, but he remained quiet and relatively still.
?Okay, Preston, what gives? You look like a zombie today, and you seem just a tad cranky, which is not like you. You better tell me what?s wrong right now or I?ll beat you up,? I jokingly threatened, smiling at him.
Preston finally cracked a smile. ?Ann, you ruthless business woman?always wanting to get right to the point.?
?Damn straight,? I replied. ?So, what?s wrong??
Preston lifted his coffee mug to take his first delicate sip. He set the mug back on the table and sighed. ?Ann, one of our residents at Sunrise is missing.?
?The Home?? I asked, forgetting in my surprise that Preston hates it when I refer to The Sunrise Home simply as ?The Home?. He said it sounds so dank and depressing that way.
?Yes, The Home, Ann,? Preston said, not even sounding angry at my choice of words. ?I was up all night, scouring every corner of Lambert and the surrounding areas.?
?How did he get out?? I asked.
Preston took another sip of coffee. ?Well, first off, it?s not ?he?, it?s ?she?. And, well, you know how it is at Sunrise. Those people aren?t there against their will. We have them sign papers saying that they won?t leave the premises alone for their protection and ours, but we have no way to monitor them all of the time.?
?Well, you should! You are caring for retarded people! You should have baby monitors or something!? I exclaimed. ?You care so much about that place, Preston, that I would have figured you?d have some big old security system on that place!?
Preston wrinkled his brow and set his mug down. He looked angered by my words. I knew I had crossed the line.
?First off, Ann, you know I hate the word ?retarded??it has too negative of a connotation these days. Secondly, we don?t degrade those people by having baby monitors or surveillance cameras in their room or such. Just because they are mentally disabled doesn?t mean that they don?t deserve any privacy. Nothing like this has ever happened before, so we must not be too off base with our methods! We try to give them a good life.?
A good life. There are those words again.
?Does that mean that you try to let them live like me? After all, you commented about me living the good life.?
Preston set his mug down. ?Ann, I was being facetious when I said that. It was an offhand statement. You know, when it comes right down to it, I think that I live the good life.?
I was very surprised by that statement. ?You? The good life??
?You know, Ann, you don?t need money to live the good life. To you, living the good life may involve fancy cars, big screen TV?s, and exotic vacations. For the Sunrise residents, a good life is just having caring people around them. And for me, the good life is any life that I am living?because I will work with whatever I have to make it good.?
Wow. It was such a noble thing to say. Still, it made me sound so?shallow?superficial?however, I knew that now wasn?t the time to try to defend myself.
?Look, if there?s any way I can help??, I began to offer.
Preston stood up. ?No, Ann?thank you, but no. I will be looking all day along with other staff. Once the twenty-four hour period has passed, the police will be helping as well.? He paused. ?Well, if you really want to help, can I come over for coffee again tomorrow morning??
?Sure thing,? I replied. ?You?re brewing though!?
?Just tell me which gourmet crap you want me to brew, Ann,? Preston said, smiling.
?I hope you find your resident, Preston. What is her name??
Preston sighed. ?I?d rather not say, since it?s not necessary for you to know. You know?privacy issues and stuff.?
?I understand,? I replied.
Suddenly, Preston and I heard his telephone ringing back over in his apartment. ?I bet that?s Sunrise!? he said, running back to his room.
I stood up and cleaned up the coffee mess in the kitchen. I was about to go to the bathroom to blow dry my hair when Preston returned.
?They found her,? he said solemnly. ?She?s dead.?
I was shocked. I didn?t know what to say. I?m never good at handling these types of situations.
?Preston,? I began. ?Everything will be okay?? I was at a loss for words.
Preston sighed. ?I guess it?s not worth crying over. I?m sure she is happy now. She must not have been happy at Sunrise. So?perhaps now she is finally living the good life.?
With that, Preston left and went to his apartment.
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
I looked around at my apartment.
Is this really the good life?
