Justin hates Mondays. 

His hatred is not caused because he was out partying all weekend and loathes the end of fun while experiencing a habitual Monday hangover the moment he opens his eyes. Justin doesn't know the last time he consumed any non life-sustaining substance, but he'd guess it was during one of Brian's earlier visits. The abhorrence is not because it's the beginning of another long week of work before he gets two days of rest. With three jobs, he rarely has a full day off work and the last time his day off was scheduled to fall on Saturday or Sunday, his need for extra income trumped everything, so he took the extra shifts offered to him. 

It isn't because he loathes the routine many face when Mondays begin. Justin doesn't have a routine; he thinks it might actually be nice to have one and would probably praise a Monday morning that began with even a hazy chicken-scratched schedule. He doesn't dislike Mondays because he can foresee five seemingly endless days of things to accomplish, stretched out like a dark tunnel in front of him, a pinprick of light he must make his way to, before he gets a break and can have time to refresh his mind and body. He'd love knowing what's coming, or even having a hint, an hour of foresight that would feel like a weekend vacation.

He doesn't get a day or two to recuperate, and his to-do list becomes longer with every day that passes. He doesn't ever tie up loose ends on Friday and come back to a hoard of problems on Monday. Justin's ‘loose ends' flap around with every move he makes, the frays catching on every imperfect moment, binding him to and reminding him of every mistake he's made. The hoard of problems crowd his small dingy apartment with threats and demands that he acknowledge his failure, press against his chest until it becomes hard to breathe and the only thing Justin can see scheduled in his future is suffocation. 

Justin hates Mondays because of the other people who have the luxury of hating Mondays for all those other reasons. He hates Mondays because just about every bad thing that's happened to him since he arrived in New York, has occurred on a Monday. These instances where Justin somehow gets fucked over are usually traced back to the people who hate Mondays. He gets caught in the crosshairs of their blue mood or manic behavior and while at the end of it, they're one step closer to the weekend, he's one leap backward to where he started the Monday he came to New York.

Justin thinks sometimes that he's in a New York state of mind, only not the one in the song. He's the state of mind, the bad stereotypes people give when talking about New York. He doesn't sleep, he's got emotional turmoil that will never fade and skyscrapers of memories on his life's horizon that he knows he'll forever grieve for. He's expensive, crowded, polluted, noisy, stale, and infectious rodents take up residence alongside the fortress he's built inside himself, unkillable and endlessly breeding.

It wasn't always like this, the first year, there were days when he'd come back to his apartment after a long day pounding the pavement and he'd sing Frank Sinatra's New York, New York or Billy Joel's New York State of Mind at the top of his lungs. Those songs would follow him, invigorating him whenever he was turned down at a gallery, laid off from a diner, or told he didn't have the right... whatever it was someone was looking for. Eventually, the Mondays piled up and the disappointments turned to personal failures and the lyrics to those songs began to taste bitter on his tongue and eventually they disappeared from his pallet. Now, Justin shudders whenever he hears a small cord of the tunes and no matter how hard he tries to cut away from it, his frays grasp every note, tethering him to the hopeful kid he was when he first endeavored upon New York City.

***

Monday, April 16, 2007

This Monday, Justin began his day by waking up to a vacant space beside him in bed, his hand encountering cool sheets. It is only eight in the morning, but Brian has already left to return to Pittsburgh. He has about twenty minutes to wash his face, brush his teeth and hair and pull on a clean-ish pair of clothes before he has to be out the door and on his way to work. Usually he woke up at least an hour before he had to leave for work, but he'd wanted to sleep in, figuring that Brian would be catching his usual ten a.m. flight back to Pittsburgh. Realizing that he'd slept late for no reason put Justin in a bad mood before his bare feet touched the cold floor of his bedroom.

Because his apartment is tiny and feels even smaller with all his belongings, mostly his art supplies, there is little free floor space. Justin usually started his mornings by making his bed, picking up his dirty clothes and cleaning any dishes that were left in the sink from the day before. No matter how cluttered his apartment was, coming home to organized, clean chaos, rather than messy cramped rooms, felt a lot better after working for twelve or sixteen hours. He'd told himself that allowing it to go for one day would be worth it because he'd be woken up with a good morning fuck, a blowjob, or kisses. At the very least, the memory of the sun shining on Brian as he lay beside him in his bed would stay with him the rest of the day, even when he came home to an empty, dirty apartment.

Justin figured that he shouldn't be surprised that his plans failed, it was after all a Monday. Bleary-eyed, he grabbed his clothes, work apron and stumbled into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he returned to his bedroom to get his wallet and cell phone and stuffed them in his pocket. He took a look at the work schedule he had pinned to the cork board on his wall and saw the day's date. It wasn't like he didn't know it was coming, but he had forgotten that it would occur on a Monday. The first time the date came, he'd been too busy to wallow in ‘what ifs' and last year he'd been in Pittsburgh and had Brian to distract him from everything. Now there was nothing to stop him from thinking about ‘what might have been' and the pain and longing he felt, ached like it never had before. Only a few hours ago he'd had a reminder of what he'd left behind for New York and now he was about to get a reminder of exactly what he'd left Brian for. It wasn't much at all. He painted whenever he could spare the time, but he'd accomplished nothing for his art career in the time since he'd been living in New York.

When Justin rounded the street corner across from the café he worked, he halted in his steps and caused at least three people to careen into him and received a fair amount of bitching for the stumbling he'd caused, and probably a bruise or two where an old lady had elbowed him in his back. Café Hawkins was usually bustling with activity at this time of day, but now the neon sign outside was off and the place looked dark on the inside. Justin sucked in a deep breath and crossed the street to stand in front of the double doors, one of which had a closed sign on it. He peered inside and saw his boss and another man walking around the space. He pulled on the handle of the door, but it wouldn't budge. "Shit," he grumbled, realizing it was locked.

"They're closed," a man spoke from behind him.

Justin turned around and saw a customer he recognized. "I guess they figured they'd open later today," he said and began knocking on the door.

"I don't think so, kid," the man said, walking off.

Justin continued knocking until finally the door was opened. The owner, Milton Hawkins, held open the door and gestured him inside. "Good morning, Justin."

Justin stepped into the café and looked around, but saw no co-workers. "What's going on, Mr. Hawkins? Are you waiting to open until nine?"

Milton locked the door behind him and walked around to the bar. "Abby called you yesterday. We wanted you here last night."

Justin had received a call from an unknown number last night, but he'd been in the middle of being fucked by Brian and hadn't answered it. "I must have missed the call."

Milton reached underneath the bar and produced a white envelope. "That's your last pay check."

Justin blinked. "You're... you're firing me?" He couldn't believe he was going to be fired because he hadn't come in for an unscheduled shift. It was the first time and he probably would've answered the call if it had come from the café's number.

Milton frowned and shook his head and then waved his hand around. "Look around, you, Justin. No one is here, no one is being fired. Yesterday afternoon we had a visit from the health department and we failed for the third time this year. They've given us a stop-work order until everything is fixed."

"Then we'll just have to fix it," Justin said. "I can help clean and do whatever..."

"It would require us to put in a new sewer system and plumbing throughout the kitchen and the café. The man that just went into the back is a contractor friend of mine, but even he couldn't give me a deal I can afford. The money isn't there," Milton sighed. "We're laying everyone off and closing the café. I don't have a choice."

"But I need this job," Justin said, pleadingly. "My other jobs don't pay nearly as much and I won't be able to afford..."

"It's done," Milton interrupted. "I'm sorry. Even if I had the money to fix all of the things they want fixed, it would be at least a couple of months before we could open again. I've been in the red for almost a year, it's time I cut my losses and sell the building to the gym next door like they've been wanting since they moved in. Hey, you're a pretty fit guy, you could always put in an application there."

If the world didn't feel like it was crashing down around him, Justin would've laughed at the suggestion. He had only been to the gym in Pittsburgh a couple of times and certainly had no need of one now. He shook off the suggestion and picked up the envelope. "Okay." He wasn't going to cry. "I guess, um, thanks for giving me my first job in New York."

Milton smiled sadly. "You're welcome, kid. I'll make sure to give you a great recommendation, all right?"

Justin nodded and spoke hoarsely, "Okay, thanks." He felt like he was in a daze as Milton walked him outside and said goodbye to him once more before disappearing back into the café.

It wasn't like Justin hadn't lost jobs before. In fact, he'd been fired twice. Once from an Italian restaurant because he'd come in two minutes late on his first shift, and the other time was because of the whole Stockwell / Vangard thing. Other than the café, he'd been laid off from many different places in New York, two diners, a book store, a record store and a bakery. With all of those, he'd had back-up plans, even when he'd been fired from Vangard, he'd known that a position at the diner was secure. Now, he had no back-up plan and even though he worked at two other jobs, he only pulled in enough to cover his art supplies from those and because the weather was still chilly, he hadn't been to Central Park to try to sell his sketches or paintings.

Feeling completely lost, Justin went around filling out applications at any place he thought he might have the skills to work at. None of the places were very promising though and not a single manager had time to interview him on the spot, so his application was likely to be lost in a sea of others. When the sun began to set, Justin became aware of the fact that he hadn't eaten anything and figured he'd kill two birds with one stone and headed into Field Diner. He ordered the special and asked to talk to his manager to see if there were any extra shifts he could pick up. Unfortunately, his manager told him the diner had been even slower than it usually was and he had only scheduled Justin for two days that week and told him that extra shifts would first be offered to the employees who had been there longer than him. That meant that every other worker in the place would be asked before he was called. Determined not to cry in his milkshake, Justin finished his meal and left for home.

After an exhausting and smelly bus ride home, he barely had the energy to climb down the stairs to his apartment. He told himself that he wasn't going to complain about the mess he'd left that morning, that could wait for tomorrow, because he had some serious angst he needed to rid himself of first and hoped he'd at least remembered to put his oil paints pallet in the freezer last night.

When Justin opened the door to his apartment, he back tracked for a moment and looked at the number and letter on the door to be sure that he was in the right one. His living room was completely bare, with the exception of the thrift store sofa and empty built in book shelves. He'd been robbed! "Oh god," he whispered, backing up against his door. His hands shook and he felt a panic attack coming on full force as he grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket to call the police.

"You haven't been robbed."

Startled, Justin dropped his keys and cell phone to the floor and stared at Brian who was standing in the hallway against the bedroom door. "What the..." He still wasn't calm, still felt like panicking, but his heart rate had decreased a little. "What the fucking fuck, Brian?"

Brian moved across the floor and stopped a few steps in front of him and held out a set of keys. "Here."

Justin stared at the keys and then looked up at Brian. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Brian jingled the keys, uncurled one of Justin's fists and placed them in it. "I'm here to help you move."

"Move?" Justin asked, breathless. "Where?"

"Home," Brian said simply.

Justin's eyes widened as he stumbled after Brian who pulled him over to the sofa and practically threw him down onto it. "Where... where?"

"Those are the keys to... Uh, what did you call it? Not Zanadu. Hmm... Mandalay?"

"Britin!" Justin shouted.

Brian nodded. "Ah, yes, the keys to Bri-tin."

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with those?"

"I just told you," Brian said in a bored tone, sitting beside Justin. He cupped Justin's neck and gently squeezed it. "You're moving home."

"Did you actually manage to fuck my brains out last night?"

"Nearly," Brian replied.

"I've just forgotten that we discussed me moving back to Pittsburgh?"

"West Virginia," Brian said with nonchalance.

Justin blinked slowly. "So we did discuss this and I have a brain injury and I've forgotten it?" he asked worriedly.

Brian's cool smile faded and he dropped his hand away from Justin. "No, we didn't discuss it. But we did discuss how much you hate living here."

"I never said that!" Justin insisted.

Brian cocked his head to the side and stared at Justin. "Not in so many words, no."

"What have you done with all my stuff?"

"I packed it, except for a couple of changes of clothes, some sketch pads, the canvases with wet paint and the bed of course."

"What makes you think I hate living here?"

Brian scoffed. "Do you want me to list all the reasons you hate living here? I'm pretty sure you know each and every one."

Justin had never felt so confused in his life. "What is going on? Why would you just come here and pack my things and think I'm just going to leave New York?"

"Listen, you and I both know the reason you came to New York. I didn't want you to sacrifice your dreams for a life with me. I didn't want you to always wonder about what could have been."

"But that's all I do," Justin said, breaking down. "All I've done since I've come here is wonder what could have fucking been."

Brian sighed and nodded. "I know. I've known for a while and when I was scanning my boarding pass and the date popped up on the screen, I..."

"You know what today is?" Justin asked, surprised.

"I'm the one that chose it, remember?" Brian asked, rolling his eyes. "So, I figure you probably need a couple of days to say goodbye to your friends and quit all three of your hellish jobs. I've rented a car and we can drive back with the rest of your shit whenever you're ready."

"This is real?" Justin asked, slowly. "You're ready?" He saw Brian nod and felt his heart race, but this time it wasn't because he felt panicked. "For me?" he clarified, smiling.

Brian nodded. "Are you?"

"Yes." Justin pulled Brian to him and smashed their mouths together. The day had started off terribly and had seemed to only get worse, but suddenly it seemed like the best day he'd had in years. "I love you."

Brian laughed a little, separating their mouths and pressing their foreheads together as he stared into Justin's eyes. "You can be an artist anywhere. You were doing pretty well in Pittsburgh."

"Yeah, I was," Justin whispered. "But that isn't exactly true, I think it's become obvious that I can't be an artist here."

"Maybe one day." Brian carded his hands through Justin's hair and leaned in to give him a slow sweet kiss. "You know, I didn't pack the bed." He waggled his eyebrows and looked toward the bedroom.

Justin barked out a laugh and pulled away from Brian's arms. "You know, all of my friends are in Florida enjoying their spring break." He didn't want to stay in New York a moment longer than he had to.

"I am not giving you some mock honeymoon in Florida," Brian warned.

Justin stood up from the sofa. "I wasn't suggesting that. You don't actually think that this grand gesture is going to get you out of a wedding. I mean, I have a whole year to plan it."

Brian winced. "Still, I'm not honeymooning in Florida."

Justin smiled. "As if we'd do something so tacky. I was telling you that because you should know that I can always see if they'll drive through West Virginia on their way back to visit us at our palace. Naturally they'll all have confirmed what they've always believed about you."

"And what is that?" Brian asked, amused.

"That you're my sugar daddy."

"Whatever works," Brian joked. "Are you going to be okay quitting your jobs without notice?"

"I just so happened to be laid off from the café and I don't think either of the diners deserves my loyalty." Justin began walking toward the bedroom. "You have any boxes left?"

"Why?" Brian asked, hopping off the couch and following Justin into the bedroom.

Justin already had the sheets and blankets pulled from his bed. "We're leaving now."

"You're serious? I thought there'd be at least a little resistance."

"I know when to cut my losses," Justin replied. "You're serious about me coming home, right?"

"Yeah," Brian said, his tone a little awed. "I've been waiting for this for two years."

"We're not going to wait any longer," Justin said firmly. He would never look at Monday in the same way again. For him, forever began on a Monday.

Justin loves Mondays.