If Only...

THAT'S THE WAY THE COOKIE CRUMBLES

Light.

It is the first thing I feel, trying to louvre its way in through my eyelids. I forgot to draw the blinds. Again.

I exhale and close my eyes again, focusing on my breathing, trying to empty my mind. Only I could think of undrawn blinds the minute I wake up. Why blinds? Why can't it be dreams? . . .

On second thought, I'd prefer the blinds. My dreams are rarely joyful; or remembered. But on the few occasions that I do remember them, I choose to forget and start over again. And again. And again . . .

Shaking my head in disapproval, I try again to clear my head. I believe that an empty and a fresh mind is important before starting a new day.

Again.

Sure, this is a newly adapted belief, but it is hard and at the same better not to think of my dreams, which were usually about the time I no longer care about.

Liar.

Sneers my conscience, and I have to agree. It's hard to, but better at the same time.

More hard than better, really. . .

I sigh and pull the comforting duvet over my head and lie on my right, still taking in generous deep breaths, listening to the muffled voices coming from the TV set from next door. It was all white noise this time, though. Unlike last time.

God, it had been so embarrassing. I thought I'd get in trouble for reporting Scream as domestic disturbance, but the officer let me off easy, saying we've all been there.

So did Heather, the said neighbour, who happens to be a lover of horror movies even today; but not so much in the mornings anymore. I think the front door I replaced after the cops knocked it down is a subtle reminder.

I smile as my nose picks up the distant smell of caffeine and I breathe it in acquiescently, but then, my crystal clear mind turns into a myriad of cascading thoughts, all in a split second.

Heather always brewed a fresh pot of coffee at around 8 o' clock. My eyes fly open and immediately land on the clock sitting on my nightstand.

7:47 a.m.

"Ah, shi--crap!" I correct myself in time, jumping out of bed and quickly slip on a pair of jeans.

"Baby!" I call out my door frantically. "Wake up! We're gonna be late!"

I struggle with the button momentarily, trying to calm my mind down, but then hastily end the conflict and throw on a sweatshirt.

"Rosie?" I call out my door, as I walk into the next room with twitching legs, to find an empty but neatly made bed. I frown and walk out, into the living room, calling out her name again. When I do not get an answer, I look toward the kitchen, and find her there, my dressed up 6-year old sitting at the table, chowing down on Froot loops. I let out a relieved sigh and breathe out my wayward thoughts, before walking up to her.

"Morning, honey. Why didn't you answer me?" I ask, kissing her on the head.

"You told me not to speak with my mouth full, mommy."

I smile appreciatively, as I replace the stool from under the cereal cabinet to under the kitchen sink and take the chair next to her.

"How did you sleep?" I ask, inadvertently wiping the crumbs off her pink cheeks.

"Good." She smiles, munching down on the last spoon in an all mellow way. It makes me feel terribly inadequate at times.

"Why didn't you wake me up, baby?" I ask, only feeling more pathetic. My six year old was more responsible than I.