NORMAL

The sky fell quickly across his face and soon the bite of November became another normality. In the shadowless gray night that is winter in Ohio, Kile stepped quietly toward his small apartment. The stench of dishwater clung to his chilled hands, and it was difficult to find his keys at the bottom of his jean pockets. Wind-blown, red, and waterlogged, his fingers brought out both apartment keys and the measly wad of tip money the night had procured him.
Again the sense of normality struck him as he pulled out the key that fit his door lock. The door opened with the familiar creak of old hinges, and Kile counted out the 15 steps up to the second floor. A bare bulb at the top of the steps burned light up and down the red-carpeted hallway, countered only by a window at the other end. Kile turned left and took eight paces.
The light on his answering machine was blinking. Once, twice, three times the little light snapped on and off. Solo snuggled and mewed around Kile’s feet. He hung his coat on the back of his apartment door. He picked up the kitten and carried it with him to the answering machine, punched the PLAY button and went into the kitchenette to find his last cold one.
“Three new messages,” the normally mechanical voice said. “First new message. Yesterday, 10:43pm.” Kile checked his watch. It was now two in the morning. He listened while his girlfriend’s voice explained that she and her friends would be at the Softwater Bar, and he should meet them there. The next two messages were his girlfriend again, one saying she was leaving the bar, the second that she had gotten home okay and was going to sleep. “Look on your bed,” was the last thing she said before the machine shut off.
After rationing out dry cat food for Solo, Kile went down a short familiar hallway to his bedroom and found his door open. On his bed was a brown paper bag that smelled of Chinese food. Next to the bag he found a folded white note. Kile smiled.
“I know how much you hate eating food from work, so I got you this instead. Chopsticks are in the bag. Love, Lara.”
Kile took out the cooling General Tsao’s Chicken and sat at his desk by the window. He propped his feet up on the radiator and sat, eating and watching the darkness evaporate on its way to dawn and another normal November day. Thoughts of his life passed through his mind and, while he never intended to spend his 20-something years as a dishwasher, he at least had a few things going for him.
That was enough to feel normal. And that was enough to smile.