Good Morning, Powells

The sun snapped awake that day. A ZAP! A POP! A ZIING of a sun rise-- well, more like of a sun jump. A leap out of horizon's bedding and into the cloud-kissed ocean of a sky on the calmest of days.

I snapped awake with it--snapped up and leaped out of my tangled and wrangled sheets, pushed aside the matted pillow, the worn-with-love teddy, the dog-eared book from the Granby Public Library. Atop the highest bunk bed in all of Western Massachusetts, I firmly grasped the raised wooden siding with both of my ten-year-old hands and swung with the agility of a spider monkey.
I dropped to the ground, grazing Nina's mattress underneath me with my pudgy toes.
It was almost as thrilling as climbing the oak tree in the side lawn (the one with the Spring Swings Backyard Zip Line drawn out from the deck to its sturdy branches) climbing that tree to the slab of board my brothers nailed atop the branches where we would dare each other to jump to the ground. Mom would grasp her heart and throat, her "nerves shot," her gasp echoing throughout South Street. 


I hit the floor with my feet, as only a professional could. Taking off running, I pushed aside the off-white sheet that hung by a few silver tacks in place of a bedroom door, turned sharply down the hallway filled with crayon scrawling and scratches toward the aged, grumpy stairway. 


I skidded to a stop at the top of the steps. My heart pounded with both adrenaline and nerves. I cleared my throat and crept down slowly. 


"Can we get up now?"


Crickets. I waited patiently for an answer, but began to grow tired after a stretched-out eternity of 30 seconds. 


"MOMM! DADD! CAN WE GET UP NOW?"


Mom only then emerged from the dining room with hushed footstep, "Yes, but please be quiet. It's still early."

Once "Yes" left mom's lips, I hurled myself down the stairs, Sarah sleepily rounding the top of the stairs after me with Joe tripping his way past her. Evelyn walked down gracefully, her hand grazing the banister with morning freshness.

Atop the dining room table were five boxes of cereal to appease us. Special K (for special kids, mom used to say). Corn Flakes. Wheaties. Honey Nut Cheerios. And Shredded Wheat. An unopened carton of milk cowered in the center of the table, surround by bowls and spoons, very much aware of it's last drops on earth this morning.

A plastic place mat adorned the 12-foot wooden table-top. A table, Bill and Rob claimed, that dead people were laid out upon 50 to 100 years ago. I never ate off the table without a mat in fear of touching the same surface as those corpses. This morning was no different.


Splunk! Spoons coupled with chipped bowls. Dinkle dinkle dinkle. bits of whole grain, wheat and honey nut spilled into the chinaware. Glub glub. 2% topped each pile off.

Good morning, all.