Blog 1: 9-7-11: The day started out with....

The day started out with Bonnie Tyler. And I need you now tonight! And I need you more than ever! Her voice rasped through the stereo alarm. Tyler had nearly reached the climax of the chorus, singing And we’ll only be makin’ it right!, when 27 year-old Spring Patterson’s limbs unfolded and she rolled over and turned off the alarm, cutting Tyler off in the middle of a particularly high note. Spring never pressed the snooze button.
Instead, she sat up surprisingly fast for a person who had just been dreaming about cuddly bundles of things that resembled newborn infants. She stretched and croaked out the next line to “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” which she knew by heart, the morning phlegm still sputtering in her throat.

Getting out of bed, Spring prepared for the best and worst part of the day: getting dressed. Her closet opened to a mini-department store of dresses, sweaters, and shoes, the majority of which in the most alarming shades of pink. Pink was Spring’s very favorite color. Any kind of pink, although it was best neon or sparkly. Spring had a single pink streak in her hair, which went rather interestingly with the red-brown shade of her wavy fringe. Her nails were always pink, as were her lips. Everything of Spring’s was pink, right down to her Toyota 4 Runner, which she’d bought used from some guy who lived in Castle Apartments, and which she’d had repainted a metallic, glittery hue.

Spring pulled on her favorite lime-green tights, cowboy boots, and a fuzzy, pink sweater-dress before looking in the mirror. “Muffin top” was an adequate description of her middle area, and her nose was a little upturned, but Spring just smiled, fussed with her hair, and continued her everyday routine.

In the kitchen, Spring greeted her cousin, Trish, and Trish’s husband, Peter.

She never forgot to say good morning.

Spring rented a room in their small house, on Willow Lane, while she was attending the small community college in the next town. She also made sure to kiss the newborn baby, Caleb on the cheek before heading out the door.

“You’ll get him sick, Spring! He doesn’t have an immune system capable...” Tish’s protests followed Spring as she went.

The drive to work at the Sobchak Boulevard Roller Rink was usually filled with stares from other drivers, mostly because of the contrast between Spring’s care and the rest of the, well, street, but also because of the sound of Celine Dion and Spring screeching along blasting from her 4 Runner. She usually kept the windows down in the summer since the AC in her car didn’t work very well. She thought that maybe she should have spent the money on the paint job to fix it, instead.
At work, Spring smiled with both rows of teeth and greeted each of the employees, even those she didn’t know well.
Spring entered the break room, spotting Janet, who sat in the cubicle to the left of Spring.

“How was your weekend, Janet?” Spring said, pouring herself a mug of coffee and heaping three spoonfuls of raw cane sugar into it.

“Just fine, Spring,” Janet said.

“Do anything fun?” Spring said, with another flash of teeth.

“Hmmm? No, not really,” Janet said, sipping her own coffee.

“Nothing at all?” Spring continued.

“Not really, Spring,” Janet sighed. Spring always felt that it was strange that Janet hardly looked her in the eyes. Not many people did, for that matter.
“Aw, what a bummer. Well my weekend was pretty good,” Spring said and faced Janet, thinking that maybe her body language would make Janet look at her.
“Mmm-hmm,” Janet murmured, focusing intently on the cream she was pouring into her mug. Spring waited for her to ask about her weekend, tapping her foot to the sound of “I Feel Like a Woman” growing louder in her head.
“Because I went to the hospital. The baby was born this weekend!” Spring gushed. She couldn’t help herself.
“Oh. Isn’t that nice,” Janet said.
“Yes!” Spring said. “His name is Caleb. He’s beautiful. A little late, but he finally came! He’s adorable. Just so tiny and cute and pink! I didn’t know babies could be so pink!”
“Hmm. I bet you liked that, didn’t you Spring?” Janet said. It wasn’t really a question. Spring knew that Janet was getting tired of her, that she was only making comments to get the conversation over with, and then she could leave the break room to ignore Spring for the rest of the day.
But Spring couldn’t stop. She laughed. “You know me too well, Janet. It's so lucky I get to live with Trish and Peter so that I can see Caleb everyday! He’s so gosh-darn cute! I wish you could see how cute he is, because he is just so cute. I’ll be sure to bring pictures for everyone to look at. Maybe tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow I’ll bring pictures....Wouldn’t you like to see, Janet?”
But she had already stopped listening.
After a lengthy pause, Janet realized that Spring had finally silenced. “Oh!” She exclaimed, quick to cover up her hesitation. “Yes, yes, that would be nice...” Nice. That was Janet’s favorite word. She made a funny jerk in the direction of the door and said, “Well...work, you know.”
“Right. Of course, of course,” Spring said. “Go ahead! Sorry to keep you.”
Janet gave a polite half-smile and left the room. Spring looked down at her mug and saw the small puddles of coffee around it on the counter. She didn’t realize she’d been swirling her coffee rather rigorously with a spoon during the whole conversation.

Spring was the last to leave the rink most nights. As a paid intern in the rink’s office, Spring was responsible for all of the book-keeping and filing, an easy but time-consuming task. Rubbing her eyes, scratchy from staring at a computer screen all day, she left the building and crossed the parking lot to her car. The street lights made the paint job glitter in the dark. She turned the key in the ignition, and the car made a wheeze like an old smoker. She couldn’t believe it. She tried again, and this time the car simply coughed and died.

“Gosh darnit!” Spring said.

She never cursed.

This was the third time in two months that the car had quit on her. The smell of burning rubber mingled with the musty summer smell that had been lingering in the air for days. That stupid guy who sold her the car, just six months or so ago, the one with the limp...what was his name? Steven? Sebastian? Spring wasn’t sure.

No matter, she’d had it. She rummaged in her purse, throwing her wallet and phone aside, and retrieved the bent business card out of a pocket. Spencer “The Switch” Daey.

Spring punched in the digits into her phone and lifted it to her ear. The phone rang three times, and Spring was just about to hang up when a hollow click sounded from the other line.

“Hello?”