Forget me lots (Completed)

3. Dawn🌿

Monday morning comes without a warning. I've barely slept, but the sun barging in through the swaying linen curtains doesn't care. I sit up on my bed and stare at the windowsill, squinting like a blind bat.

As my eyes adjust to the brightness, my gaze zeroes in on a pigeon. She's come out of nowhere and her round eyes scan my room. She's a 'mourning dove'. Her haunting cooing gave her that name. When she flies, her wings make the most amazing whistling sound.

I know a lot about birds. Five years ago, Dad thought bird gazing could become our new thing.

"We are running out of adventures, baby bee," he told me one morning. He loved showing up in my room from our former home with all these crazy ideas on how to have fun together and dodge reality that could 'bite us in the bum'—his words, not mine. I have a feeling he also wanted to dodge my siblings. Those rascals could bring the world down with one mischief.

"I was right, wasn't I?" His voice doesn't scare the bird away, I know it's because I'm the only one who can hear it. Refusing to go down that path this early in the morning, I nod and hear his chuckles.

Sure were, Daddy. I think the only cons were some questionable white marks on your vest after walking underneath those giant sequoias.

I wait for more of his beautiful laughter, but none comes. Alone again, I suck in a deep breath and stare at the dove once more.

These birds have a bad rap, but they were one of Dad's favorites. She bobs her head as she waddles back and forth, and a smile plays at the corners of my mouth. "I'm not condemning your dietary choices, you know? But if you could stop picking up bits of people's leftover lunches, I'm sure you'd irk them less." She stops mid way and gives me a loud coo. "You're right, who am I to judge?" I shrug in her direction and she flies away.

I need to get ready for my first day at this new school, and to be fair, I'd rather shrink, jump out the window and cling to the dove's feathers so I can escape this new reality that doesn't seem real to me at all. I don't want it, so I won't acknowledge it.

It's so freaking hot, my room is melting right through the cracks of the wooden floorboards into Mom's kitchen. I hear scratching outside my bedroom so with slump shoulders I waddle—like my winged friend from before—towards the door. It's Clover, our Golden Retriever, who cannot stop panting.

"Look at us, girl." I run my fingers through her thick, soft fur. "All uncomfortable. At least you look good. You don't sweat as I do." She stares at me and gifts me with a playful bark.

"Hey, don't be such a meanie. Don't agree like that. Not everybody can be as cute as you. Be grateful you don't have to go to school looking like me." I kneel closer to her—screw the heat—and give Clover a tight hug. She was a gift from my dad on my tenth birthday. Wagging her tail, she allows me to cling to her for as long as I want to. The scrape of her rough, fiery tongue drenches my cheek, twice, before I herd her down the stairs.

"Morning." I flop over the kitchen counter. Crumpled, light cotton dress on, shoes untied.

Mom scans me and sighs. She's making breakfast for me and my siblings. I've already upset her by the sudden increase of her whisking tempo. She is beating those eggs up as if they've insulted her.

"Aren't you supposed to be wearing your uniform, hon?" She's unable to hold her nagging instincts a second longer.

I peer at her. "I'll wear it tomorrow. It's still in one of the boxes and I didn't have enough time to prep it."

Mom reads my face like an open book, calling on my bluff. "Why the teal one, baby? It's all worn out. You want to create a good impression on your first day, don't you? Plus, it looks like you have outgrown it. You shouldn't wear it anymore. Please, put it in your closet, if you don't want to get rid of it."