Moby

Morning light shone through the roman blinds casting stripes of brightness on the otherwise dark and peaceful room. The bed was crisp white and soft, and the room decor was a cool minty green. Moby rubbed his eyes with his fists, and crawled out of the bed. Meredith was still asleep beside his imprint on the bed, her silky nightgown draped across her body.

Moby folded the blankets back over her and looked at his watch: it was 6:30, and he was running late.

He grabbed a suit, shirt, and tie from his closet and walked briskly to the shiny bathroom adjacent to his closet. He turned on the water, pulled down his boxers, and felt the pounding of the droplets on his fingertips until the water was warm. The door made a deep clicking sound as he opened it. He climbed in, relishing the feeling of his feet splashing in the quarter inch of water that had accumulated. He stuck his head under the pressurized stream and felt it massage his head, listening to the peaceful white noise of the shower. He poured a bit of cinnamon scented men's soap on his hands and quickly washed.

He got out, dried himself off with a towel from a heated rack, and began to pull off his suit. As he was looping over his red striped tie, he stopped suddenly, and stared at himself in the mirror. A good looking man of about 45, he was somehow perplexed by his reflection. He felt his fingers sweep across his face, his beard.

He shook it off, pulled the knot up to the top of his collar, and grabbed his coat, along the way, peeking into his kids' rooms. His little angels were fast asleep. May stirred, and, not wanting to wake her, or anyone, he tiptoed down the steps to the kitchen.

The cherrywood cabinets and marble countertops glittered, the sunlight shining onto them through the big window overlooking the bright green yard and playset. Moby grabbed the red Folger's container from the cabinet above him, poured a filter full of the dark, rich, grinds, poured in water from a smooth glass pitcher, and nimbly pressed the "ON" switch.

He grabbed a bagel from a stainless steel bread rack, and spread on thick cream cheese from the refrigerator. He savored his food and the gentle bubbling off the coffee brewing, as the warm smell wafted throughout the house. Meredith walked groggily downstairs, still in her nightgown, just as he finished pouring his coffee into a stainless steel travel mug.

"I'm going on the road today," he told her lovingly.

"I know. Minneapolis. You'll be back by tomorrow night for May's birthday?"

"I'll do my best honey. I have to get going or I'll miss my flight."

"Travel safely."

"I will. If you need me, you can always call." He leaned in and kissed her, making a sweet little smooching noise as he pulled away. "Tell the kids I said to have fun at school today, and good luck to Brad on his math test."

"I will, honey. I love you. Have a good trip."

"Love you too."

With that, he was out the door. He hopped into his black sedan and carefully backed out of the driveway, waving goodbye to his stone-and-ivy house as he pulled out of the gated community and onto the roads.

He flicked on the radio. There was a lady talking about a new book that was out about the ways technology is enabling teachers to better educate their kids. Moby turned it up, hoping to hear something relevant to his own kids' classrooms.

"For one," her smooth voice began, "Teachers can give geography and culture lessons in entirely new ways from just ten years ago. With Google Earth, even average-income kids can see Tokyo from the streets, skype with a class in London, and, simply by viewing popular websites from a given country, can establish a general understanding of the customs and values, the way a particular culture works."

"That's very interesting," responded the male interviewer. "But what about a more traditional subject like reading. Wouldn't that class be hurt by technology rather than helped, since kids now spend time they used to spend with books on the internet?"

Moby switched the radio off, deciding to enjoy his car ride in peace. He drove through intersection after intersection, perfectly content to be alone with his thoughts.

As he was pulling around an elevated ramp, about to merge on the highway, he heard a squeaking noise. He felt someone shaking him. He woke up.

The End

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