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Monday

Monday trips on her way in, late of course, to the Days of the Week Council Meeting. She manages to catch herself and scuttles to her assigned seat by me. Her hair is down, but I am predicting a quick bun made halfway through the meeting. Behind her glasses, her eyes gravitate to the one person I can’t stand: Friday.

I think the main reason I can’t stand Friday is Monday’s incessant crush on him. He barely even acknowledges her, asking her to hang out maybe twice a year. He’s one of those people that tips back in his chair to the point you are sure he’s going to tip over, but he never does. He gets all the attention. Everyone is excited to see Friday, but they are never excited to see me. Sometimes I feel invisible. Friday’s talking to his buddy Saturday, who doesn’t even pretend to pay attention. Sunday is sitting on the other side of Monday, her hair already pulled up into a bun on the top of her head and decked out in sweats. She’s a funny one, oscillating between two extremes, always wearing either sweats or a dress.

 

Monday always has an excuse for why she is late. Today she leans over and whispers, “Pssst. Tuesday? I bet you can’t guess what held me up today.”

“Mmmm,” I mumble while pretending to think hard about it, “You locked your keys in your car yet again.” I never fully believe any of her stories. They’re always things like ‘found a snake in the house’ or ‘caught a skunk in a cat trap.’ If she is to be believed, nothing goes right for her. She seems to always be sick, but not sick enough to justify staying home. Her glasses always have smudges on them, and her shoes never go with her outfit. She seems to lose something impossible to lose, like an elephant, every five seconds. For some reason though, I find it endearing.

“No,” she snorts, “construction. For once in my life I left on time, early in fact, but apparently the city thought it’d be fun to turn my house into an unleavable fortress.”

I break into a smile, one I seem to keep around for only her, not that anyone else would notice it. “They just didn’t want you changing your schedule.”

Wednesday clears his throat; the annoying prick is under the impression he’s in charge because he sits in the middle. He stands and paces before us during the whole meeting where we discuss things like holidays, weather, and time. He is constantly clapping his hands and telling us “stay on task,” as if Thursday, whose turn seems to last forever, needs our full attention. Saturday makes his usual pact with Sunday to fly by. It’s not like we switch things up all that often anyway. After the third hand clapping from Wednesday, Monday pulls her hair into the predicted bun.

She stares at Friday and he winks at her, actually winks. What if I’m wrong? What if Monday’s crush on Friday isn’t hopeless? In a relationship, people change. Would we have to add Monday to the weekend on a regular basis? That would screw everything up, not to mention I don’t want a Friday like Monday. I like Monday just the way she is, full of—

“Tuesday, pay attention,” Wednesday snaps. I feel my cheeks burn red, and keep my eyes pointedly turned away from both Friday and Monday for the rest of the meeting.

At the end, we all walk outside together. Monday squeaks a goodbye to Friday before I walk her to her car. She ruffles my hair like a sibling, “See you at midnight.”

All the tension left in me diffuses, and I give another gawky smile, “See you at midnight.” It’s our signature goodbye.Then I walk to my car and sit in it until the parking lot is empty, thinking about her hands running through my hair and knowing I’ll get to see her far sooner than she’ll get to see Friday, and maybe this time I’ll be able to win her over.

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