Fledged

Chapter Four: Thinking and Talking Far Too Much

Max woke up to the soft sunlight peeping in through his open window. He lay there on the bed, half in a daze, wondering how long it would be before he slept in a bed that was on the ground.

            He rubbed his green eyes, still feeling sleepy.

            It had been around two o’clock in the morning before he’d finally managed to coax his mind into the warm embrace of sleep. Although his body had been exhausted, his mind just hadn’t wanted to shut up, readily sweeping him instead into thoughts of what would happen and who he would meet and what he would say the next morning.

            Max stretched. He yawned. He did all manner of things to try and wake himself up a little, but nothing seemed to help. It was as if there was a stubborn smog of tiredness around him, refusing to be burnt off by the morning light. It seemed as if it would hang there all day.

            But Max knew one thing that could get rid of it; one of his favorite things in the morning: Coffee.

            He rose unsteadily and dressed, running his fingers through his wavy brown hair in an effort to smooth the bed-headedness away.

            He looked carefully at himself in the small mirror that hung on one wall, twisting and turning this way and that to best observe his appearance. With wavy dark brown and hair and deep green eyes, he fancied himself to look intelligent and adaptable to any situation. And with his broad shoulders and solid build, as well as his big hands and his height at a pleasing six-foot, he looked dependable, capable, and trustworthy.

            At least, Max thought so.

            Will the Air Navy think so?

            His hair was still tousled, sticking up slightly in strange places. It desperately needed a cutting, but Maxwell had no idea how to do that himself. He’d always had someone who refused to let him leave until he’d at least had a trim.

            But there really wasn’t anything he could do about it right then, so Max shrugged, ran his fingers through it one last time, and took a deep breath. If they decided not to accept him into the Air Navy, this trip and most of his money would have been wasted. He’d have to go to another town or city, and scrape out a living for himself that hopefully didn’tinclude living with vermin or on the street. Or both.

            Max shook his head. Doubting this wouldn’t help anything. He needed to have an optimistic approach. A cheerful, funny, friendly young man was always welcome, while the man who was pessimistic and solemn was shunned by society. That was why it was always so much easier for Maxwell to joke and laugh and make friends. The more people liked him and kept him around, the more likely it was that he would survive.

            He combed through his hair one more time, deciding that he looked presentable. His clothes were pretty clean, and his hair wasn’t too unruly today. That was a good omen, right?

            Feeling the doubt start to sweep through him once more, he closed his deep green eyes, bowed his head, and said a quick prayer. Give me the faith to believe you’ll take care of me, no matter if it turns out to be the way I want it to or not.

            Ten minutes later, Maxwell Bouvier was out of his room, with his suitcase in his hand and his pocketwatch in his coat, ready to face the day with a smile and a cheerful attitude.

           

Max took a deep sip of his coffee, inhaling the pleasant scent with gusto.