Pedestrian |✓

|6| p a n c a k e

"Good morning!" I greeted my parents as I stepped down the stairs with a cheery voice and a full blown smile etched on my face. My mom, who's pouring down some orange juice on my assigned glass, glanced briefly at Dad, who's engrossed in his Newspaper-completely oblivious to his sorrounding-before looking back at me. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"You seem happy today." my mom noted as I plopped down in my seat. I grinned at her, taking in her appearance; brunette hair-which I inherited-that's placed in a tight bun, green eyes with slight wrinkles at its corners from age and stress due to her work as a middle school English teacher, her small and pointy nose just like mine, the worn out apron that's splattered with some pancake mix, covering her working clothes and small frame and lastly, a silver necklace that's dangling from her neck, with a small diamond pendant-an anniversarry gift from Dad last year.

My mother is just a simple woman, a typical mother. She cooks, cleans, asks normal questions from time to time, hugs when I cry and loves me and my older sister, Camille-who's in college-to bits but she's not perfect too. She tends to forget simple and important things like my singing recitals when I was ten, she nags when I get home late from school, scolds when I don't clean out my room and can be a complete killjoy on her worst days. I still love her though, just like my dad.

I smiled at the man who's seated at the head of the table who's still engrossed in his newspaper, sipping through his warm glass of milk. I actually thought that warm milks were only for kids, but having my dad beside me-a breathing evidence on his late forty's-proved me wrong. He never liked coffee, or rather the effect that it brings, saying that it affects his sleep. Hence the choice of warm milk.

He wore a simple button down blue shirt with a pair of slacks and black leather shoes. His usual outfit every time he goes to work as a head publishing editor at an old publishing house in the next town. He's been working there for twenty years already, and it sustained our family enough. With or without my mother's work.

My father's probably the reason why I fell in love with writing. He may not be a published writer but that doesn't mean he can't write. He is a very good writer in fact, but he chose editing for a profession, saying it can provide more for our family.

It's a Saturday but they both have a meeting. Leaving me alone at our home.

My father's brown eyes lifted from the newspaper to meet mine. He gave me a grin, which I returned with a much bigger one of my own causing him to raise his brow at my unusual cheery behavior. "You're up early today."

I nodded, still smiling as I placed three pancakes on my plate, my mom's so called specialty. I grabbed the syrup bottle at my right and drowned my pancakes in it, feeling contented with the way the pancakes turn mushy from the sticky substance. "Yep. I have somewhere to go to."

My mom who just sat beside dad, across me, nodded understandingly. "Just lock the house before you leave and the place the keys un-"

"Underneath the rug." I interrupted, completing her usual reminder every time I leave the house without them around, a smile still on my face.

Both of my parents chuckled. My dad shaking his head in amusement and my mom sipping from her cup of coffee.

Ignoring their amused expressions with a shrug, I stuffed my mouth with pancakes, moaning a little at its heavenly taste. The syrup felt smooth and silky on my tounge and the pancake fluffy and warm. It's just so perfect.

Or maybe it was just my mood? Ever since last night, I can't help but find all the beauty in things. Appreciating the soft sound of bristling leaves as it sways against the wind, how flat the pavement is in front of my house, how clean the coffee table is from my mom's constant cleaning and wiping, the scent of my perfume, the sound of air-conditioning and even the loud blasting of kring kring's from my alarm clock, jolting me up from my slumber, seemed amusing and beautiful to me. Even if I usually had the urge to throw and slam it against the wall everyday.