Time

I finally open my eyes.

The suns glare is being dimmed to a dull orange through the thick curtains. A sliver of light cut my room in half from the slight parting in the centre. They never would close fully. It had been on my list of things to fix for the past three months, and didn’t look likely to be leaving any time soon.

“Mark for the last time, get out of that bed!”

The shout came from down the hall outside the door. Likely she was thinking up any excuse to make a racket outside my door. Always seems that way anyways. I roll over onto my left side and glance at the clock. The bright red digits light up as 5.25 p.m. I startle for a second and then remember that the clock has been broken for the past week. I grab my phone from my bedside table and look at the time on that instead. 12.42 p.m.

Now’s as good a time as any to get up I suppose. I toss back the blanket, leaving it hanging off the bed, and slide myself around until I’m sitting on the edge. I take a sweeping look around the room. The expression “it’s like a bomb hit it” really isn’t that far off the mark. I swear I had only just cleaned it two days ago. Already there are sweet wrappers covering the chair. Clothes litter the ground, just taken off and left where they fell. Even the wardrobes look like they’ve been rifled through. I wince at the thought of having to try to clean it up. I had promised my mom that I’d get around to it today, really just to get her off my back. So much for my plans of doing nothing. Or at least nothing productive.

I stand up, stretch out my legs a bit, and then throw on some loose cotton bottoms over my shorts. I leave my top bare, no need to dirty a top before my shower. I hop over a pile of what I hope is just clothes, and reach for the door. Just as I reach the handle it starts to turn-

“Mark, For JESU- oh! You’re up. Thank god! Look at this room it’s a state! What do you be doing in here?!”

“I dunno, I’m cleaning it today, remember? Come on, leave it!” I reply hurriedly, trying to usher her back through the door before she gets into the full swing of her rant. She brushes past as if I’m not even there. I try blocking her as she grabs for a t-shirt hanging off the TV, in the corner of my room, but she’s too quick.

Ah Mark, it’s a mess? Come on we can clean it now, I’ll help. It’ll just take two seconds.” I don’t know if I imagine it, but there always seems to be a condescending tone to her voice. It manages to rile me up every single time.

“No come on, just leave it. I’ll do it myself ok? Ma, get out! I’ll do it after breakfast o.k.?” I’m almost pleading by the end, but the last remark seems to make a dent.

“Oh fine.” she drops the t-shirt, perfectly folded, back on to my bed. “But it better be done within the next hour!” she says in that same tone, and marches from the room. I let out a relieved sigh. I don’t know what it is, but I just hate doing something when I’m told. Before she walked in I was fully considering doing it straight away, but now I feel like pushing it back as long as I can, just to get back at her. Sash says it’s just me being a stubborn git. Hard to argue when it makes so much sense. Still do though.

I crank open the door to the kitchen, and saunter on in. Grab a bowl form the bottom press. Take out the cereal form the press to the side. Pull open the drawer and fish around for a clean spoon- our dishwasher seems to wash about a third of its contents, leaving what my ma would call “clean dirt”, meaning that she thought me foolish for not being willing to use a spoon with a huge glop of some dried in old food on it-and finally whip open the fridge and grab the milk. For all the things I complain about in the house, the milk almost makes them all worth it. We have two fridges, so we keep one a few degrees colder. The milk has actually frozen to slush once or twice, that’s how cold it is. Beautiful.

I slap the contents down on the table, and inch down into the seat. Made the mistake of sitting down too quickly into the hard varnished wood when they were first bought, and nearly broke my tail bone. Couldn’t stand straight nor sit down for nearly a week. My ma failed to see the irony in her protestation that the chairs built good posture.

As I pour the milk into my bowl, I notice a letter on the table.

To Laura- it began- CREDIT CARD BILL

Dad wouldn’t have been happy with this. In fact neither would have my ma, back in the day. The familiar pang of uneasiness starts to return so I bury myself in reading the back of the cereal box a good dozen times.

On about the Dozenth and first time, my mom reappears in the kitchen. She makes to grab the cereal box, and discreetly pulls the credit card bill into her hand. She doesn’t’ like to let me know how bad it’s getting. She grabs a couple of whole wheat pieces, and munches on them as she slides the letter into her pocket.

“So what are you at for the day?” I ask, trying to take her mind off where I know it must be going.

“Sorry?” her eyes refocus as she again notices I’m there. “Oh, em... well let’s see, there’s the house to clean, the dog needs to go for a walk, have to call into the ba-“ her breath catches for a split second. “Head downtown for a few bits and pieces. Nothing big. You better hurry up by the way; you’re going to be late.”

Late?

“What do you mean? I’ve got nothing on today?” My head starts scanning all the possible things I could have forgotten. The list is a lot longer than I’d care to admit.

“Your room? Have you forgotten already?” undeniable proof. There is a definite smirk on her face. She is doing it just to annoy me.

“Ugh”, I grab a few whole wheat bits and throw them at her. My aim is embarrassing. She lets out a light chuckle.

“Hahaha don’t you forget, mind! It’s like a pigsty in there.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” As she gets up from the table I return to my reading of the box, going so far as to turn it to the side and read the ingredients.

When I shovel the last spoonful into my open mouth, I take another quick look at the clock. The one hanging in the kitchen is a lot fancier than my little alarm clock. Sterling silver trimmings, all the multiples of three silver roman numerals on a black background. Even the hands look well worked, extravagant Celtic designs worked into their shapely length.

5.25p.m.

Wait, what? I Rub my eyes, and look again. 1:07p.m. That was strange...must still be waking up. I instantly forget about it and start clearing off the table. I stick the milk and cereal back where I got them, and leave my used bowl and spoon on top of the dishwasher. I’ll more than likely be called back in five minutes to actually put them in, but the slight chance of not having to do it always appears worth it. I turn back around and make my way towards the door. Still a good five paces from the door when she calls my name. Already? Surely that has got to be a new record.

“Yeah, I was just going toilet, I’ll put it in now in a sec.” I continue to the door without looking back.

“Huh? Oh, your bowl. Ah Mark, come on, put it in now...”

I sigh and take my hand of the door handle. So close.

“Anyways, that is not what I was calling you for. I’m heading out now?” she says it with no inflection, but I know it’s a question. She always feels bad leaving me by myself. I think it’s because she doesn’t like to be left by herself...

“Yeah go ahead, I have my room to keep me busy anyways.” I look over at her as I answer. She’s got her long black coat on and a dark grey handbag in her left hand. She’s fidgeting with the clasps on the coat while holding her gloves in the other hand. She must really be worried about this meeting, she’s rarely this flustered. I try to pretend like I didn’t notice anything and go to put my dish in the dishwasher.

“O.k., good, have it done by the time I get home.” She gets the last clasp through. “Ah, there we go. Right talk to you later son!” She walks over and gives me a slight peck on the cheek, which I try to rub off, and heads out the kitchen, down the hall, and out the front door.

The noise of the alarm rips through my head and shatters any remnants of doziness that were left in me. I sprint to door but my ma is already back in, yelling her apologies down the hall. Forgetting to turn off the house alarm? Worried about this meeting indeed.