Cable Days & Orange Skies

Marissa floated in her apartment complex pool at 6 AM, the water dark and still around her. She'd been swimming laps every morning since David moved out three months ago. The rhythm—stroke, breathe, stroke—was the only thing that quieted the static in her head.

She pulled herself from the water, droplets sliding down her arms like the tears she refused to cry anymore. The pool lights cast an orange glow across the surface, the same color as the sunset they'd watched from his balcony the night he told her he couldn't do this anymore. "I'm just existing, Marissa. I feel like a zombie going through the motions."

She'd laughed bitterly at that. A zombie. He had a job, friends, a family who loved him. He got to decide he was done feeling dead inside.

Back in apartment 4B, Marissa stood dripping on the cheap linoleum. The cable box flashed its relentless error message again—perfect timing, as always. She'd called three times this week. Each technician promised to send someone. Each one didn't.

She sank onto her couch, surrounded by unpacked boxes she'd stopped pretending she'd open. The cable repair was scheduled for Thursday. She'd taken a half-day. She'd bought fresh oranges at the farmer's market, arranged them in a bowl like she was hosting brunch for the life she wished she had.

The technician showed up Wednesday instead, while she was still at work. When she came home to find the note on her door—"Service complete, everything working"—she stood in her hallway and finally screamed. The sound echoed off empty walls.

That night she floated in the pool again, swimming until her arms burned. An orange lifeguard buoy bobbed near the edge. She grabbed it, holding on, breathing in the smell of chlorine and exhaustion.

Tomorrow she'd call the cable company again. Tomorrow she'd unpack another box. Tomorrow she'd swim another dozen laps.

For now, she just treaded water, watching the sky darken, telling herself she wasn't drowning, that she wasn't a zombie, that she was still here, still breathing, still waiting for something to change.