A Collection of Reflections

*Note- This might be a little boring, so action seekers beware.

I wake up slowly to the sound of duck noises. That’s what I set my alarm to. I just thought it would be nicer than waking up to something that sounds like my school’s fire alarm. Half in my dream, I reset my alarm to six thirty-five, just to give myself the satisfaction of extra sleep. Five minutes is long enough to convince my body that it’s well rested, but not long enough to arouse the suspicions of my parents. I wake up for the second time and yawn down the stairs, a hot cup of tea my only driving force to do so. And thus begins my day.

I pick up my bass and carry it carefully to my spot in the elevated platform. I pick up the bow, and rosin it little. Then I play. I used to be a dancer, but my body refused to contort in the necessary ways needed to succeed in that field. For me, playing the bass is my own way of dancing. My arm moves gracefully back and forth, the vibration from the strings so intense it feels like a massage. I smile. Phantom of the Opera never felt so good.

At lunch, I sit solitary at my table and wait for my two best friends. I wonder about them. Sometimes I feel as if I am in a battle, trying to prove that I am just as intelligent and “in the loop” as they are. One of them will talk about heavy metal music, another about random trivia, both about fandom shows, and I can’t keep up. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean them any disrespect. They are both funny, kind, wonderful individuals. I just feel ignorant sometimes. And you know what, I bet I make them feel like that too. I should really stop that.

I am home, sitting on my couch and reading a wonderful book. My mom comes home, and I ask her if I can have an ice cream bar. She answers yes, and even lets me eat it on the couch so I can continue to read in comfort. I love my mom. I bury my face in her cashmere sweater and say,

“Thank you, Mommy.” It feels a little juvenile to say ‘Mommy’, but I want to show her that I’m not a raging hormonal teenage monster who doesn’t need her anymore. I’ve read lots of books about growing up, and I need to show her that I still care. I don’t know if calling her Mommy will bridge the gradually widening gap between us, but it’s worth a shot.

I slowly sink into the white, sock monkey-printed world of my sheets. I lay there and drift into oblivion, only to awake to the sound of ducks.