She closed her eyes once more, debating whether to get up, or to savor those last few minutes in bed.  She heard a quiet snore beside her - Ben had allergies, and he had been snoring off and on all night.  Luckly, unlike her, he was virtually unwakable, and a few gentle nudges could produce the necessary change of position without disturbing his precious sleep.  He never got out of work until after midnight, except that night the transformer blew up at the factory, and they sent him home at 9:45.  But that wasn't this night.  Better let the man sleep.

But the snoring was irritating enough to drive her out of bed, unwinding the comforter from her legs, and stumbling over last night's cast-off clothes.  She remembered to turn off the alarm before she left the room, even though she knew it would wake no one.  Neither did the creak in the hardwood floor, although the baby turned slightly in response. 

It was always a little hard to bring herself to leave for work in the mornings.  That's why she always got up so early.  She had to leave a little time for something pleasant before facing the daily grind.  This morning, it was a book.  She had 45 minutes to read and eat her breakfast.  That left time for a shower and getting dressed. 

As usual, the reading time ended before she had gotten her fill.  The comfort of the hot shower also ended too soon.  She crept back into the bedroom to grope for clothes in the semi-dark.  It was a lot easier now, in the early summer dawn, to put an outfit together.  A pair of jeans, a t-shirt, underwear, and socks.  She looked over at the thin figure lying, blankets thrown off, on the untidy bed.  So thin.  But it was impossible to get him to eat - nerves, perhaps.  He was always wound tight like a spring.  Lying there in bed he looked like something she could snap between her fingers.  Maybe if they could get ahead - buy a house, maybe one to rent; that was his dream - maybe then he would lose that fragile quality, and take care of himself.  She couldn't do it for him - working separate shifts, so they wouldn't need a babysitter - she had so little time to be with him, and she was so tired when she had the time.

But speaking of time - she had none now.  It was time to get dressed, almost time to leave.  She stuffed some money for the cafeteria in her jeans pocket, and grabbed her keys and badge.  Out the door,  in the car (Jimi Hendrix sang her to work), and into the factory she went.  On went the suit of sterile blue.  On went the fluffy white hairnet.  Just one more working drone for the hive.  8 and a half hours, 1 hour of break,  just building parts, building parts, working in America for rich Japanese.  Her mind obsessed with daydreams, problems, anything and nothing.

Her 45 minute lunch break she was allowed to go home.  Even pushing her old junkyard-bait car to its trembling limits, that only left her 20 minute with Ben.  With the baby, too, if she was lucky, and it wasn't taking a nap.  Not this time, though.  But that was good in its own way.  With the baby awake, it was a constant distraction.  She had time with her child - not enough time, but time.  But time alone with Ben was hard to come by.  She walked in the door, and tried to pretend that it was the weekend, and not the middle of a workday.  But, then again, it was the workday that gave them a door to walk through - they had both had enough of the humiliation of living off others - be it friends, family, or the state.  The neglected clutter on the furniture was a monument to independence, and the weariness on their faces was matched by the pride in their accomplishment.

The 20 minutes was packed with all they could remember to say of nearly 24 hours of "I need to tell them this"-es.  Mostly, they just sat next to each other, soaking each other's presense up.  These minutes, after all, were the ones they lived for.  And they were over far too quickly.  A quick kiss, and out the door she went. 

A couple more hours of mind-numbing work.  Then again a brief meet in the parkinglot, with the baby in the car.  Another quick kiss.  Ben walked into the factory.  She got into the car.  Switch to mom mode.  Here was the happiest time of day.  There was enough time for her to enjoy her child before bedtime.  This was what kept her going.  The fact that, were it not for the baby, she would certainly have more time with Ben, did not dampen the enjoyment of the next few hours.  In the life she had to live, you must take joy where you can find it.

The baby had a cold today, and by bedtime, her t-shirt was patched with snot.  Funny how it would have bothered her once upon a time.  She brushed the baby's teeth, getting her finger bitten in the process, changed the baby's soaked diaper, and bundled it off with a bottle of water in the crib.  Now came her own time, if she could just find the energy to enjoy it.  A little time on the computer, perhaps, or reading a book, or perhaps watching TV or playing a video game.  But as often as not, she went to bed soon after the baby.  If she went to bed early, then she could get up when Ben came home, and still be able to wake up for work the next morning.  So she crept into the bedroom and shed her clothes on top of yesterday's pile.  Creak, went the hardwood floor.  The baby turned in its sleep.  She crawled into bed, on Ben's side, using his pillow, and pulled the old down comforter up to her shoulders.

The pillow retained Ben's smell - she remembered taking deep, hungry breaths of that smell once upon a time, at the beginning.  Passion of that kind takes an energy that working mothers don't possess, but the smell still made her smile.  It was comforting - homey; it made her feel like she belonged, and she fell asleep every night on this side of the bed for that reason.  And fell asleep quickly.

Her note waited up for Ben as he came in the door a little after midnight.  She woke to feel him shaking her.  Slowly, she extended each limb to its limit, yawning as if to take in the entire room in one gulp.  After a couple minutes, she followed him out to the living room.  The TV was on, its blue light mingling with the blacklight on the entertainment center, and the purple spiderweb lights she bought a couple Halloweens ago.  She sat next to him, leaning on his bony arm like she was superglued.  His fingers found her knee and rested there.  They didn't say much, a little about their days, whatever they had forgotten to say before.  He was a chronic channel-surfer, but that didn't bother her.  She didn't care much for TV anyway - she was here to be with him.

Again, there was not much energy for passion.  Both were worn with work and baby.  Just sitting there, experiencing each other, silently sharing their mutual dreams of a better life.  Their plans for getting there.  Mutually exhausted with their struggle to carry out those plans.  Someday, they would work the same shift, maybe not have to work that many hours.  Someday, moments together would not have to be snatched.  Energy would not have to be conserved.  It could be wasted, prodigally, where now it was hoarded.  The things they enjoyed about life would have room to expand and grow.  There is always a someday, but now there was a today, where she sat next to him, and it was good in its own way.  Perhaps you value things more when you struggle for them.  Perhaps this stolen moment is the one she will look back on from her future paradise with half-envious remembrance.  Remembering the day when they dreamed together.  When they told their tarot, and gathered hope from the sight of the ten of pentacles.