Camp

Jack

"Est tempus ad vigilaveris  (It is time to wake up)" my father says, opening the shades to reveal the blinding light.

"Ugh" I respond as the light hits me, making me cover my eyes, "It isn't even Latin class dad!"

"Sed minime prohibere exercendo. (But you should never stop practicing.)" he responded with a chuckle.

I blindly reach over to my bedside and feel around for my glasses.

I turn to face where his voice came from last, since I can't see him because I am literally almost as blind as a bat, "Where are my glasses?"

"Posce Latine. (Ask in Latin.)" he tells me, and I swivel my head toward the new direction of his voice.

"Ubi sunt glasses?" I ask with an exasperated sigh.

He places them into my outstretched hand before I hear him exit the room.  I put them on with a yawn, look around my room, and think back to when I first took Latin.  I was a freshman in high school, and since my dad took it back in high school, he strongly recommended that I take the dead language.  Following his lead, and my interest in something new, I signed up for the course and haven't been able to get out of it since.  It is helpful sometimes, but it also feels like such an annoying waste of time, since I'm never going to really use fluent Latin out in the world.  I just kinda wish my dad would give me a break sometimes.

Especially since I just got a perfect score on the AP Latin exam.

I get out of bed and finish opening the shades, letting the rest of the morning sun into my room to light up my earthly colored walls.  I put on some music and complete my morning routine before pulling my brown suitcase out of my closet and placing it on my bed. After I finish packing, I throw on a green and black striped shirt, some jeans, and grab my brown starred long sleeve.

I head down the stairs toward the loud sounds of someone cooking in the kitchen.

"Where's dad?" I ask the tall, bearded man making pancakes on the stove top.

"Good mornin' to you to, Jack." he says before turning to face me, "Since you took so damn long, your dad left for work already, but he told me, your good ol' Uncle Bobby, to give you this here note."

I stare at the note between his fingers while preparing for the inevitable battle. As I walk forward, his evil smile widens, until I'm right in front of him. I quickly reach for the note, only to be met with a scorching hot spatula in my hand and a laughing Uncle Bobby behind my back. For a big man, he sure did have fast reflexes.

"Shit!" I say, dropping the hot metal onto the stovetop, "What the fuck?!"

"That was toooooo darn easy," he exclaims before turning to place the plate of pancakes on the table, "you need to work on your reflexes and you need to toughen those hands of yours. They've gotten too soft with all that computer crap you do up in your hacker cave."

I close my eyes and try to deflect the insults, especially since I know he is just getting started. I sense him approach and decide to keep my eyes close. As he reaches his hand up, I grab his wrist as the last minute, twist his hand and dig my "delicate " fingers into his arm, resulting in a gasp emerging from his mouth.

"I do not appreciate you trying to take my glasses" I say, opening my eyes to glare at him, "and since I can barely see without these, I've also gotten pretty good at sensing my surroundings without sight... I can hear and feel a lot more than you think."

I drop his hand, "And haven't you heard... It isn't a good thing to piss off a hacker."

I shoulder past him, grab a few pancakes and my dad's note, before stomping up the stairs. Bobby opens the refrigerator door and I hear the clanking of glass as he pulls out his first beer for the day. I sigh as I close my door, glad to be leaving so I won't have to come home to smelly man passed out on our couch.