Darryl’s eyes fluttered open. There was a noise in his bedroom he couldn’t quite identify. He lay with his head on the pillow for a moment, listening and considering.
The sound was high pitched. It was repetitive. At first, he had thought it was coming from across the room, but the more he focused on the sound, the more it sounded like it was right beside him.
Darryl blinked a few times as he came closer to full consciousness. He slowly realized what was making the noise.
It was his alarm.
He reached over to his bedside table to switch it off. He blinked a few more times to focus his eyes, which seemed to be seeing the world through a thick film. He squinted slightly to read the numbers on his clock. It was a few minutes before 4.
Right, he thought, his brain waking up. Thursday.
The ferry to the mainland has an early run on Mondays and Thursdays. On those days, Darryl drives the shuttle from Dunnock Bay to the ferry terminal at the south end of St. Anne’s Island.
Darryl’s shuttle leaves town at 5 a.m. to catch the 6 a.m. ferry. It’s just over a half-hour drive, but he likes people to feel like they have lots of time when they arrive at the terminal to get settled on the boat.
Most mornings of the early ferry, Darryl will hit the snooze button a few times, just because he can. This morning, he’s feeling awake enough to give himself some extra time. He hopped out of bed, feeling his bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor of his bedroom. He reached up high with his hands to stretch his arms, his back, and his legs.
He brought his arms down and gave a yawn. The day had begun.
Before he hit the bathroom to start his normal morning routine, he grabbed his zippered hoodie from the hook beside his door. He picked up a box of cigarettes and a lighter from the top of his dresser and walked to the sliding door to the balcony.
Darryl stepped outside as he pulled on his sweater. It was a cold morning, despite June being just a few days away. He could see clouds of his breath in front of him in the chilly air. Some of the rooftops nearby had a touch of a white glaze from frost.
Springtime in the Maritimes, he thought to himself.
For all that, it was a lovely morning. There was hardly a breath of wind. Sunrise was still more than an hour off, and he could see stars above him through a crystal clear sky. Saturn hung high in the sky to the south, with Mars in the southeast. To the east, Jupiter was just starting to set.
Darryl flipped open his pack of cigarettes and withdrew one, placing it gently between his lips before lighting it with his old Zippo lighter. It was almost graceful how fluid these movements were.
He was not proud of his smoking, but he was proud of how much he had cut back. It was a habit he picked up in high school and had kept up through his 20s and into his 30s. Last year, he finally decided to quit, and it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He had three false starts that lasted just a few days each (one lasted less than a day) before he finally stuck the landing. His doctor had prescribed the patch, which he dutifully applied every morning for 12 weeks.
The first three days were absolute torture. He told himself he was going to pack his schedule with activities to keep his mind occupied, but he was so irrationally angry and irritable about everything. The morning of the second day, he caught himself snapping at poor Grace as she took his order at the Tim Hortons drive thru, because she misheard him and asked if he wanted his breakfast sandwich on a biscuit instead of his normal English muffin.
That’s when he realized he needed to call in sick for the next two days. He set up on his couch in his PJs, re-watching every action movie he’d ever seen in his life and ordering food delivery online.
He emerged from his apartment on the fourth day, still irritable, but not likely to rip anyone’s heads off.
People respond so well when he tells them he quit smoking. Everyone is so proud of him. What he doesn’t tell them is he still has this one little smoking ritual left. The two days a week the ferry has its early run, he starts his day with a cigarette. He knows he should stop, but it gives him a little thrill every time he thinks about that single cigarette.
Last week, he made a vow. This would be his last ever pack of cigarettes. When he gets to the end, he’ll not buy a new one. After this morning, he has three cigarettes left. By the middle of June, he’ll be completely free.
He hopes.
Darryl pulled his hoodie a little closer around himself. It sure was cold this morning. He had just a few more puffs left on his cigarette. He’ll be glad to go inside in a minute and step into a nice hot shower.
Darryl looked east again and realized he could no longer see Jupiter. It had slipped below the horizon.
He felt a bit of wetness on his cheek.
It couldn’t be raining, he thought. There’s not a cloud in the sky.
He felt another spot on his the back of hand, cold and wet. When he looked at it, he saw it was a fluffy flake of snow.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said quietly.
Darryl looked up and saw the air was full of flakes falling gently around him. It was beautiful. With no wind, the flakes drifted almost straight down from the sky, so slowly. It made him feel like he was standing in the middle of an endless sky of stars.
He took a last puff on his cigarette and stamped it out in an old glass ashtray. He was glad to be finished.
He looked up again, and the snow had stopped. The only evidence it had ever happened was a bit of wetness on the wood railing of the balcony.
“No one will believe me,” he said out loud.
He smiled and slid open the balcony door to head inside.
By twenty to five, Darryl was showered and shaved. He’d eaten a couple slices of toast with peanut butter and jelly – his favourite since he was four years old. Darryl’s apartment was on the top floor of an old house that had been divided up in the 60s. He walked down the back stairs to the driveway.
He fished into his pocket for his keys, but found something else. It was his last pack of cigarettes. He’d forgotten to put them on his dresser when he was done.
Darryl held the pack his hands for a few seconds before tossing it in the garbage and shutting the lid.
He was ready.
Darryl shoved his hands into his other pocket and pulled out the keys to the shuttle van. He pointed them at the van and hit the unlock button. He heard the satisfying ca-chunk as the locks opened.
Darryl’s passenger list this morning was filled with folks he’d known for years. It was just four people who all lived in town. Technically, the shuttle picked up its passengers at the depot (which was a fancy name for the parking spot across the street from the old vinyl record shop). He’d texted everyone last night and told them he could pick them up at their homes on his way out of town. Everyone was appreciative, as they usually were.
He picked up Ramandeep first, as she lived just a few blocks away. She’d been home from university for a few weeks, but was heading back for the rest of the summer so she could work on campus.
“Morning, Darryl!” she said as she tossed her suitcase in the back of the van.
“Morning!” he said. “I thought for sure your dad would be here to see you off.”
Ramandeep rolled her eyes with a smile as she hopped in the front seat.
“He’s sleeping,” she said. “At least, I hope he is. He always bawls whenever I leave the house, so I made him promise we’d say our goodbyes last night before bed.”
“Aw, he’s going to miss you,” said Darryl.
Ramandeep made an expression Darryl long ago recognized as a smile-frown. The corners of her mouth turned up, but her lower lip stuck out with a bit of sadness.
“I know,” she said. “I’m going to miss him, too.”
Darryl put the van in gear and drove towards Hill Street.
“Oh hey, did you see the snow this morning?” said Ramandeep.
Darryl gasped.
“I did!” he said. “I thought I would be the only person who saw it.”
Ramandeep leaned back in her seat.
“It was beautiful,” she said. “Magical. Imagine, a little bit of snow, and it’ll be June in just a few days.”
“Springtime in the Maritimes,” said Darryl.
He smiled and signalled to turn onto Elm Street.
Thanks for hanging out in Dunnock Bay with me again this week. And apologies again for taking a week off last week. Tho, by the stats, it seems like it was a good chance for some people to find my little town for the first time. Welcome!
Be sure to also check out my weekly newsletter The Quack where I have a lot of fun writing about not much at all.
Have a great week. <3 Davy