Just Another Sunday

Just Another Sunday(Erin) It’s Just Another Sunday.
Sleep Deprived. She locks the car, squinting in the bright, morning light. Another Sunday. Another morning. No sleep. Freshly showered hair, piled into a messy bun on the top of her head. No makeup, the first time in a while. Long, black summer dress, brushing the ground. No need to shave today. Lifting her right arm, she wonders, 'Did I put on deodorant?' Shrugs, clicks the lock button. Click. Sun, beating down. Light breeze moves the cat tails. It’s gonna be a hot one. Finally a nice Sunday. No sleep. Did she lock the car? What are those tables out in front of the door for? She could care less about her appearance. For once. It’s just another Sunday.

Another long black dress. No sleep. But her eyes are happy. Excited voice. How? She was nursing her 4th iced coffee. How could this other girl be so awake? In the doorway, they lean. One with curly, red hair. The other, curly, brown hair. Smiles. They talk about the night before. A toddler cries. She winces. Sleep deprived. She follows the other, out of the nursery, to find the iPad. Got to find the iPad. It’s just another Sunday.

Where is everyone? The twins? Late. Coffee? No. Already got it. He’s spending the day with her? Lame. The beach? I guess? I might just power through the day too. He’s complaining. He’s tired. The sing. It’s her favorite. She wants to go into the sanctuary. No, she’s not. She’s going to second service. Another friend. She looks awake. Distracted though. Something, on her mind. It’s just another Sunday.

He walks in. She’s distracted. Almost misses him. But she catches the glimpse of that blue button down shirt. That red hair. He looks taller. Older. But yet the same. That’s him. Oh? Cause I was thinking he was kinda cute. Suddenly, why did she wear this dress? Look at that stain. Ick. She thinks she looks fat. Why didn’t she wear the cute short one, the one with the flowers on it. She should have done her hair better. Curled it. Braid. Something other then, this. What the hell is she wearing? Why didn’t she wear make up? Cover up those bags under her eyes. Some mascara? Why was she so stupid? But yet again, it was just another Sunday.

In the service. Up above, looking down. He looks the same. But older. This is creepy. Stop staring. How long has it been? Two months? Eight months? Two years? It has to have been at least two years. Stop staring. She said she doesn’t like anyone. But what is that feeling? That flutter in her core. He glances up. Stop staring. The screen. Praise Him. She’s suppose to be here for God. Not some boy. Pray. She prays, asking God why he threw him back here. She thought he left. Why the heck did she wear this? Marriage? That’s the sermon? Really? Oh, God. He’s preaching? No. Looking around. There he is. He’s the same, but older. Stop staring. She said she doesn’t like anyone. Can’t do this. She excuses herself to go to the bathroom. It’s just another Sunday.

In the bathroom, she looks in the mirror. Why did she wear this? It’s hideous. He definitly won’t notice her. Wait, why would he even remember her? It’s been years, and it wasn’t like they were best buddies before. Well I guess it could be a first impression. Take the hair down. Quick braid. Low bun. Better. What? Why is she doing this? She doesn’t like anyone. Besides, he won’t like her anyway. Sleep. Deprived. What happened last night? Leaves the bathroom. It’s just another Sunday.

Climbs the stairs. They’re talking. Love of her life is sitting in there. Oh? Donut? Sure. Strawberry frosted. Rainbow sprinkles. Beach? I don’t know. Maybe? Gotta go back. Second service?
Okay. But in through the doors. Stop staring. Can’t concentrate. Why is he here? He probaly has a girlfriend. It’s been two years. She’s ugly. He’ll never notice her. Stop staring! Well, that’s sexist. Sleep. Deprived. It’s just another Sunday.

Wants to bash her head. She can’t do this. Sleep. Need sleep. It’s been 28 hours. Awake. Finally, final song. Oh, it’s a favorite. Concentrate. He looks the same. But older. Stop. Singing. Sleep. Deprived. Where is he going? She could care less. She doesn’t like anyone. Wait, he’s gone. But she’s so tired. Come back. No. It’s been two years? Oh, well. He’ll probably be back. She doesn’t like anyone? No. That feeling. It’s creeping back in. Pray. Please, God, bring him back. That blue button down. That red hair. Suddenly, she remembers that encounter on the corner. He was playing his guitar. Two dollars. A smile. That was two years ago? That was two years ago. Summer time. He’s back from college. That last smile. Two years ago. Please God, bring him back. This can’t be another fleeting glance. That feeling. Go away! It’s not possible to like the same person for six years, and not see them for the past two. She doesn’t like anyone. Right? Please, God. Bring him back. Make this summer different. She saw him again! She needs to see him again. Stop. This summer. It has to be different. Sleep. Deprived. But she won’t really sleep. She saw him again. Two years. It’s just another Sunday.