One Peaceful Morning
-•-•-
As she steps outside,
still feeling a bit sleepy,
the morning air caresses her skin softly,
greeting her lovingly.
She smiles and takes a deep breath
The scent of roses
Her toes curl in the grass underneath her bare feet
She closes her eyes and just feels
Ah, what a peaceful morning.
The best time to wake up every morning is right before dawn.
The air is the clearest at the time, the morning traffic just begins to sound around the neighbourhood, and the sun is the weakest then.
The time is best to wake, best to go for a run, best to walk around one's garden — waiting to see the sun completely rise. Personally, though, I find this time the best to edit manuscripts. Apart from the air, my head is always the clearest during this time as well.
Every morning I wake up around five, brush and shower before getting on with the editing. By seven I can't read another page to save my life and so I make myself breakfast instead. By eight I stroll around my garden, pulling away inspiration from the green beings before returning inside, to my work.
That's how today finds me again, strolling in the garden, randomly glancing around the morning dew-covered leaves and flowers starting to bloom for the day.
"Gemma! Up very early again dear! Honestly, are you okay?" Mrs Red calls across the fence from her own yard. One glance her way and I know she's just woken up herself. Her rough knot of a silver bun above her head only goes to compliment the woman's sharp features.
"Goodmorning, Magenta!" I call out, waving at her, "No no, everything is fine. I'm an early riser,"
For a minute Magenta just stands there on her porch, quietly contemplating me from the distance, but then she smiles and nods, "I'll believe you! There's a neighbourhood dinner at mine this Sunday evening. I'll expect to see you!"
I grin. I'm never one to pass out on free food, "Of course I'll be there!"
"Good!" Mrs. Red beams, Mr. Red's voice calling her name sounds out in the morning and she immediately turns towards it, turning back in my direction she sends me a wave before rushing inside the house.
I just smile. Standing in my spot as I once again continue to gaze at the flowers, just taking in the clear scent of the morning.
I've never had such noble aspirations. I've never thought of a family outside of the one I was born into. I've never really thought about getting married, having a child of my own and taking care of them more than I take care of myself.
Maybe it was because I had dated so much in high school. A boyfriend. A breakup. A new boyfriend. I was never promiscuous. I suppose that was the problem. I never gave them what they wanted. I suppose I can't blame anyone but myself, being so active in the dating circle, I must have been expected to be sexually active. Maybe that was why my last boyfriend did what he did to me.
At the thought of the boy I hadn't seen since senior year, I begin feeling the same signs of anxiety I always did after the incident had occurred. After the horrible first two years of secretly meeting a counsellor, I thought I was better terms with it, and myself. I guess not.
Quickly I send one last glance towards the plants before walking into the house.
I gave up on dating after that incident. Being twenty-four, it has been seven years now and I've never been happier. I've never been lonelier.
My feet automatically carries me into the kitchen and I eye the electrical water heater for a second before deciding to make myself another hot cup of cocoa. Since today I'm free to edit all day and have no chores to do outside, I can cut myself some slack.
The white flimsy curtains blow around the living room softly with the morning breeze as I make my way towards the pale olive sofa, and settle myself onto it.
I pull my legs up and tuck it underneath me as I settle into the comfortable seat. The large open glass French door allows me to have a clear view of the backyard garden and I inhale the smell of Gardenias with closed eyes and a heart filled with contentment.
"Thank you, God. I am thankful for the life you have given me," I smile, opening my eyes and slowly bringing the cup to my lips. I take a sip and sigh happily.
My eyes wander to my tiny working nook. Out of the five manuscripts handed to me by Alicia at the last deadline, I've completed three already. Two of which I really did enjoy reading, so it didn't feel like a large chore. The third one was a bit of a bore, very cliche but I couldn't complain, it had passed the screenings and selections after all.
The fourth one, which I currently am on, looks like it's a bit of a tragedy. A big reason why I've been putting this book off until now. At this stage, I deduct that if this does end like I think it is going to, and one of the main characters does die, then I'll have the last book to bring me back. It's a risky plan, but I'm determined to work it this way in order to get this lot finished by the deadline again. Alicia is always ready to fire me after all.
Another soft gust of wind waltzes into the living room and I straighten in my seat, my eyes snap up to the view my backyard presents just as the first showers of rain begin to fall. The scent of rain reminds me of a little boy I had met once on a rainy afternoon. The sound of the soft rain brings back his wide scared eyes staring into mine.
A sigh slips from my lips and I take another sip of the hot cocoa. A month has passed since that afternoon. "It has been thirty days today. I hope Isaac is well," I think to myself as I remember the boy I had met that afternoon. The boy who had called me mummy. And the boy's father.
I often find myself thinking about him during days when it rains like this. The sweet, sad little boy. Every time it rains, he returns to my mind again and I once again crinkle up with guilt about not keeping my promise yet. Each time I have to remind myself that they have my business card, and I had given him a way to reach for me. Each time that only makes me feel worse.
"I hope you're well little Isaac," I speak out loud to the rain, my grip on the mug tightens but I continue, "I hope you're not running away from your father. Please be well little man."
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
"Have you been eating well, Gem?"
A soft airy chuckle leaves my lips as I slump back on my bed, shrugging off my slippers as I shuffle under the blanket, my pyjamas already protecting me from most of the cold.
"I'm fine, dad. Don't worry. What did you make for dinner tonight?"
"I made the baked chicken you really like. Your mum just reached home a few minutes ago from work so she must be digging in right now. What did you have for dinner? And breakfast? And lunch?"
I can't help but smile. My father usually acts more like a mum than my mum does, to be honest. He's often the one nagging me about eating more, take care of my house more, and telling me about his best male students in college who can just be perfect for me. My mum, on the other hand, is more laid back. Her mind is usually on her work and the last thing she wants to know about is a topic holding 'boys' and 'Gemma' together. In her brain, I'm too young to even walk with boys. It's a little weird sometimes because she had me when she younger than me by two years.
"I had cereal and two cups of cocoa for breakfast, eggs, and cheese for lunch and chicken and broccoli for dinner," I respond, carefully removing a wild strand of hair off of my face, "How are you and mum? Are you both planning on visiting soon?"
This is my way of saying 'Please visit me. I'm missing you both.' I know dad must be smiling on the other side of the line. I grin with him, a shameless red flush settling itself on my cheek.
"We will come by for the weekend next week don't worry," Mum's voice sounds from somewhere in the background and my grin widens.
"Love you ma!" I call out loudly. Two chuckles sound from the phone and I close my eyes, happily shuffling further into the mattress.
"Love you too sweetie. It's really late, isn't it? We should let you sleep," mum says, seemingly having gotten closer to the phone. I groan, she's right. Like most times. It's almost twelve and tomorrow is payday. I have to go out and do grocery shopping and pay the bills. I also think I'm going to treat myself to a good movie at the theatre as well.
"Yeah, I guess," I mumble in response, "You both have work as well. Dad, you have a morning lecture, don't you?"
"Yeah, 8 AM. Hate it just as much as the kids do," Dad groans and I smile.
"Best to let you both get more sleep then. Goodnight Ma! Goodnight pa!"
"Goodnight bubbah,"
"Goodnight Kiddo, we love you!"
After the call ends, the room is quiet once again. The only light comes from the neighbour's brightly lit bedroom next door. For a second I wonder if I should shift myself to one of the other rooms. Maybe the one next to Mrs Red's house. She's usually down in bed and out by nine. Then I shake my head at that thought. There is no way I'm letting go of my master bedroom.
A thought I've come to being accustomed to suddenly flashes through my mind like it does once in a while and I sigh peacefully, letting myself wonder about Isaac and his father in the privacy of my solitude.
In this solitude and silence, no one judges me for thinking of two strangers I may never hear from again. In this solitude and silence, no one berates me for my actions that day. In this solitude and silence, I am at peace to think about the two brown pools that feel like they see through my soul, without anyone telling me to stop.
A small breath of contentment leaves my lips and I turn in my bed, throwing my leg on the free space. I close my eyes, feeling the first fumes of sleep beginning to cloud my eyes.
"Goodnight little Isaac,"
Goodnight his quiet dad.