Weather and the time of day, friend or foe?

Weather, and the time of day, Friend or Foe?

I often awoke to the scream from downstairs, ‘Are you going to spend the rest of your life in bed’ shrieked my mother from the bottom of the stairs. Was that really an option, I thought as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes in an effort to meet the day. I’d love to, if it really was a choice, I thought. I was only a little kid when these thoughts occurred, as I struggled to release myself from the warmth and comfort of my bed. Well, not my whole life, maybe, but for sure the mornings! Why, I pondered, did they have to start so early!? What the hell was so important that it couldn’t happen later, say, after lunch, maybe around 1 or 2 in the afternoon? That seemed reasonable to me, time to slowly uncurl from the warm cocoon where dreams unfolded? This was the daily assault my body and soul had to contend with each day. I never moved too quickly either, as though each fiber of my body was defiant and in total alignment and a steadfast ally that this was an unnecessary disturbance our being had to endure. And it was cold, oh, so cold!

Meanwhile, I heard this racket going on in stereo: footsteps shuffling about, doors opening and closing hurriedly, faucets running everywhere: showers, toilets, kitchen, upstairs and down, a mad race to get things done! Clothes assembled, lunches packed, racing, racing, racing. And, then the inevitable question, ‘what’s the weather like outside,’ someone would ask. ‘I don’t know,’ someone would answer, but there’s frost on the grass, I think it might be chilly. ‘Oh, no,’ my mother lamented, ‘grab your sweaters and jackets, maybe you even need your boots!’ she fretted. No, not that, I thought. And quick as a wink I was stuffed into what felt like an over inflated balloon, as my mother zipped and tucked andpushed me this way and that until she was satisfied that I could now successfully fight the elements, no matter what they might be! I could not move, or hardly breathe as I made my way to the front door. The bus will be here any minute someone shouted. Move, move, hurry! More frantic running about the house, grab your gloves, where’s my hat? Just disembodied voices from every corner of this small house, racing .

Finally! Out the door, standing at the curb with a bunch of other kids, some talking, giggling, teasing, making jokes, others yawning to the cold night air, still others standing zombie like, were they awake, or even alive? Even having been stuffed like a sardine and wrapped like a Christmas present in this bubble thing, I was still freezing, my body still not up to the task of being a functioning human.

The bus chugged some black smoke trying to gather the energy to climb up the hill where more kids stood by waiting. I understood the bus, I thought, no one or thing should have to work so hard at this ungodly hour.

I was now certain I was living in the wrong house. I t could happen, I thought, mistakes happen, even at hospitals. I once heard about two little boys who were switched at birth. It wasn’t ‘til the grandma of one thought something was awry, her grandson looked nothing like the rest of the family, and she insisted on having something called a ‘dna’ test done. Sure as shootin’, she was right when that test proved the babies had been switched. Now I was wondering where my real family was, the ones who were more like me, who didn’t like mornings either. How could I find them, where to begin?

This thought plagued me for a long time, especially on those early morning cold hours. Like clockwork, this family practically levitated at the first sign of light. Now I was more sure every day they weren’t my real family. But I needed proof. I started looking for clues. Aha! I thought when I noticed I was the only one in the family with curly hair. Who were these early morning risers with straight hair? Don’t they know there’s a stranger among them?

I had to be cool about this, or else they might think I was insane. Slowly, daily, I gathered my clues. There were lots of them! How had I not paid attention to this before, when I was much younger, maybe last year when I was five? Early risers, high morning energy, straight hair! It was staring me right in the face!

And then, one morning, upon turning over to stretch before being fully awake, I noticed that the house was quiet: no frantic footsteps, or running water, no orders being barked to hurry, hurry, hurry. What happened, where was everyone? Now I feared that I would find them dead: bloody bodies strewn over the tea pot, the coffee machine, the sinks, bathroom or kitchen floor. Hysterical, I started to cry at the thought of being abandoned. But, then I wondered why was I only one left untouched? Was it my curly hair that put off the assailants, or maybe they didn’t see me curled under the covers? That was my final clue, even intruders knew I was an outsider who didn’t really belong to this family.

I crawled out of bed quietly, for fear that the murderers were still in the house. I tiptoed down the stairs when I heard my fake mother’s voice, cheery, unhurried, almost happy. Was she in on this, I thought?

‘Good morning, sweetheart’, she chirped when she saw my slippers coming down the stairs. Those damn pompoms, giving me away!

When I reached the landing, I noticed all the blinds were open, even the front and back doors were slightly ajar, letting in a bright sunny day and surprisingly warmer air.

There weren’t any bodies in sight, just the sight of my fake mother folding some clothes. It looked like that bubble straight- jacket thing I was forced to wear was now neatly tucked in a big box.

‘What would you like for breakfast?’ my mother sang. The rest of the family was sitting around the kitchen table, no blood in sight, just all talking and laughing, relaxed like. Maybe this was the moment I would be tied up and thrown out of the house, or driven down to the lake we liked to play in, dumped, the moment they realized I wasn’t really part of this family. The jig was up.

Just then a plate of French toast with big red strawberries and blueberries was placed in front of me. How’d they know this was my favorite? And the mother leaned over hugging me and kissing me on the cheek.

She inhaled softly and whispered ‘aren’t you glad that school is out now? It’s the beginning of summer! No more early morning wake ups, or cold morning bus rides.

I hid the notebook with my clues under my napkin. Ok, I thought, we’ll see about this. I’ll just keep my eyes on them,

‘Could I have more syrup, mom”, I asked cheerfully. Afterall, I had to keep up a good front.