I wake up to George, the rooster. As I thought he would, he keeps on cock-a-doodling for a couple more minutes outside my window, as if in hope of arousing Eliza for the first time in history. I smell oatmeal faintly from my bedroom. I get up and shake Eliza, who moans, and I trudge downstairs; and, just as usual, Eliza comes five minutes later.
Of course there’s a note on the table. A green sticky-note.
“I cooked Eliza and you some oatmeal for breakfast. Make the lunches and make sure Eliza takes her pill with her breakfast. Watch Eliza after school. Remind Tyler to take the milk to Mr. Greenham down the road. You know the rest.”
Typical Mum. Not even a ‘have a good day’ or ‘thanks for taking care of your sister’ is left on the note I hold in my hand. But what am I to expect? That’s the norm; Mum’s always too busy to say anything extra. All this watching Eliza, caring for Eliza, feeding Eliza and myself…it’s guaranteed, as far as Mum’s concerned.
I look dully into my bowl of oatmeal, and slowly stir around the half-cooked oats, watching bubbles pop and reappear again. I was sick and tired of oatmeal.
“Oatmeal again.” It’s a statement, not a question. My older brother knows the routine just as well as Eliza and me, even though he was away at the high school for a bit. Mum decided she needed him for the farm when Dad disappeared. Work first, education second, she tells us. And, in her opinion, Tyler has had more than enough of number two. Tyler will work on the barn and sell the cows’ milk forever and ever. I don’t see how he can stand it.
But, in some ways, Tyler's lucky. I don’t care much for school, I think, as I walk down to the bus stop, shivering. Eliza grips my hand tightly. She sighs her little girl sigh. “When is Mum coming home today?”
“When do you think?” I reply in a monotone.
“I need to get new clothes,” she says, changing the subject in her abrupt manner. And then she continues, like every other day, talking about her new favorite color, what we should eat for dinner later, and about her second grade class, and how they’re learning to read, etcetera. And like every other day, I don’t really listen to her.
Instead I look up at the sky. It’s gray. Obviously. When has the sky ever been any other color? That only supports how every day of my life is so similar. Our lives. How my life is as gray and bleak as that sky. How boring it is.
The bus finally picks us up. It’s late. We hurry on quickly—both because we want to and because the driver tells us to—and, since we’re the last stop, we end up sitting at the very front of the bus.
The bell rings just as we get dropped off at school, and we all hustle off to our classes. I’m not fast. I get marked tardy, and the teacher scolds me. Hah. I’ve accumulated so many tardies this year that I’ve had seven sessions of after school detention. I don’t really care anymore.
I have a test in math. I’m not surprised that I also have one in social studies, my worst subject. I have good idea of what I’ll pull off on all my tests: a B. Or possibly a B minus.
During lunch, I sit with my three same friends; we’ve been together since our first years. I take out my lunch—a tuna fish sandwich I made after breakfast—and Anna comments on the smell. I just laugh as usual. Then we all talk about general things, such as what’s going on at home; there’s never surprising news. Beth still has that low paying job at the local library, Anna’s mom still won’t let her get a dog, and Cassidy still hasn’t managed to get an A in one of her school classes, which gets her father, a teacher, very mad. I’m glad that at least Mum isn’t like that.
After school is finished, I pick up Eliza, and we walk home together. She tells me about her day, then asks how mine was. “Good, I guess. There's really nothing to tell." Eliza nods, then starts talking about something else.
Tyler greets us at the dirt path leading up to our modest house, and hands us each a bottle of milk from Delaney, our cow, like he does every day. I gulp it down thirstily, but Eliza takes tiny little sips and asks Tyler for a cookie, just as I thought she would. Grinning from ear to ear, he whisks out a half-crumbling cookie from his flannel jacket pocket. Despite how unappetizing it looks, Eliza still takes it greedily, giggling. How can she be so happy when this happens every day? How can she smile like that every day?
But I end up smiling too.
I take the dirt path back up to the front of our house, Eliza drifting in after me. I lock the door, since, anyways, I assume Tyler will be working at the barn for at least a couple more hours.
I attempt to do my homework at the kitchen table, but I can’t, and I end up turning on the television. It’s a stupid rerun. With nothing better to do except for the frustrating homework, I watch the rerun anyway.
Eliza, who doesn’t really have any homework, goes up to our room and plays with her dolls, plays with her wooden kitchen set, and draws pictures of whatever comes up in her colorful mind. Like, vacations in Hawaii, or exciting adventures in the jungle, with monkeys. She always draws monkeys, holding very unappetizing bananas.
She orders me to hang her crayon masterpieces up on the walls in our room in the middle of my third rerun. I sluggishly do so, and she slowly counts all the pictures that we’ve hung up already. We’ve nearly filled up the three of the four walls with her everyday pictures.
At eight, Eliza brushes her teeth, washes her face, gets in her pajamas, and takes a box of Cheez-its up with her to bed. Tyler comes home, and turns out the lights for her. He tells her a story. They’re mainly about her...her saving the town, rescuing Delaney from an evil wolf, and stuff like that. He’s told the same ones millions of times, but she doesn’t mind; it’s either that, or she doesn’t notice.
At nine I generally end up falling asleep, then dragging myself to the fridge to get some leftovers from the beginning of the week. Leftovers normally are salad, quesadillas, burritos, or pizza. Tyler, who is a bit stocky like me, sneaks a lot of the same things I’m eating, and goes back to his room across from mine to eat them. I watch my weight better; maybe it’s just because I care more…and I’m a girl. I know he feels guilty, especially since Mum wants him to lose weight, because, “Who ever buys milk from a fat milkman?” I’m pretty sure Tyler will never get thinner again, but I like him the way he is.
After I eat, I call one of my friends. We chit-chat for a bit, then I go back to my homework. I somewhat finish it, and stuff it in my backpack.
Mum comes home. I say that I can hear her heavy, tired footsteps from miles away. They’re easily recognizable. She says hello, and asks me if I got my homework done, and if Eliza is up in bed. I tell her that Eliza is up in bed like normal, and that I did finish my homework. Mum, half-asleep, pops some popcorn, and curls up on the sofa in front of the television to watch some late-night comedy shows. I watch some, talk to her, then go up to bed.
And then, I think.
About my life.
And how boring it is.
How I live the same routine every day. How life is the same day after day, week after week, year after year. And how once I wake up again, I’ll just be starting right over.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wake up to George, the rooster. As I thought he would, he keeps on cock-a-doodling for a couple more minutes outside my window, as if in hope of arousing Eliza for the first time in history. I smell oatmeal faintly from my bedroom. I get up and shake Eliza, who moans, and I trudge downstairs; and, just as usual, Eliza comes five minutes later.
Of course there’s a note on the table. A green sticky-note.
“I cooked you and Eliza some oatmeal for breakfast. Make the lunches and make sure Eliza takes her pill with her breakfast. Watch Eliza after school. Remind Tyler to take the milk to Mr. Greenham down the road. You know the rest.”
