Clover and I must have fallen asleep not long after I made my bed. It made sense; we had been up early in the morning the previous day. Still, it was pretty granny-ish to fall asleep before the sun even went down.
I woke up the next morning to a quiet knock on my door. Well, I didn't hear it, but Clover nudged me until I reached consciousness. I opened the door to Matt in his boxers with some serious dark circles, his hair a matted mess on his head. "Good morning," he said groggily.
"You too," I replied, looking around his shoulder to the stairs, where there was Brad, sound asleep.
Matt cringed, covering his ears. "You don't have to yell, yaknow." He shook his-- clearly hungover --head.
"I'm not cleaning up after you, if that's what you were going to ask," I crossed my arms, imagining the damage that was probably downstairs. There were probably a million red solo cups and bottle caps scattered about. On a normal day, none of this would have mattered, but mom and dad were coming home from a two week trip tomorrow, and of course, last night would be the night Matt would pick to throw a rager.
"I'm not asking you to," Matt said, getting down on his knees. "I'm begging you to."
I rolled my eyes. Was he serious (read: he was totally serious)? "No, Matt." I said before slamming the door in his face. I had flashbacks to doing the same to Brad the night before, who probably didn't remember much of it, if at all, today. Poor guy probably woke up with a broken nose and would never know where it came from.
Matt sighed from the other side of the door, and I could hear him sliding down the wall. I could practically see him with his knees against his chest, rubbing his forehead as he tried to plan out how he was going to fix the house before my parents returned home tomorrow.
I, on the other hand, was completely worry-free. I happily changed into simple shorts and a t-shirt and brushed my teeth, putting my hair up into a loose pony tail and throwing a baseball cap on top of it to hide the mess. Clover was chipper as well, wagging her tail and following me around my room as I made my bed.
When I came out of my room to go downstairs, Matt had left the hallway outside of my room and I could see him in his through the open door, making his bed. He had thrown on a pair of gym shorts, but was still shirtless. Often I was surprised if he ever even had a shirt on.
Going down the stairs was an adventure, as I had to step over a snoozing (read: "blacked out") Brad. My foot came down on one of his fingers but his eyes didn't even flutter. I continued my careful descent, but Clover was not as mindful. She stepped all over Brad, but he still didn't stir. Matt was going to have to put Brad in a soundproofed room for days for him to get over the headache he was going to have when he woke up, if he ever did. Upon this thought, I stopped for a minute to see if Brad was breathing. It took a moment, but I saw his chest rise and fall. Good, I thought to myself, glancing at his clock, which was still ticking as well.
I first headed to the mud room, throwing some food in Clover's dog bowl before moving to the kitchen, where I put some cereal in a plastic bag for myself and grabbed a bottle of orange juice to take on a walk. Throw me in a solid-colored track suit and I'd be a middle aged mom, I thought to myself as I clipped my fanny pack around my waist. What? Style over comfort. Clover was waiting in the laundry room, well trained to our morning routine. I hooked her leash around her collar, and just like that, we were off.
Sunrise was just approaching as Clover and I began our journey, orange, red and golden rays beginning to peek through the trees. The air was crisp at this time in the morning, which I prefered much more over the muggy summer heat that came around noontime. Clover appreciated the morning air too, her golden coat shining in the sun and her tail wagging.
As I rounded the corner, I became giddy with anticipation. Clover and I were headed to my favorite spot, as we did every morning, but this spot still made my heart flutter. It was weeping willow tree, hundreds of years old, maybe even a thousand. I had dubbed this tree "the Tree", with a capital "T". Its leaves formed a vertical blanket off of the branches, concealing whatever was inside, a sort of mystery that I loved.
If one were to dare part the vines and duck inside, they would find a hideout that I had spent years setting up for myself. There was a water dish and hook next to the trunk, specially for Clover's hydration needs and a place to put her leash. A few steps away was a chaise that I had found at a junkyard nearby in close-to-perfect condition, so I had hauled it over to the Tree. It was so big it could really fit two if I wanted, and I had draped it in a fluffy blanket for the chillier winter days. Under it was a collection of some of my favorite books, hiding away safely from the rain in a plastic tub. Up in the branches of the Tree was a (very) small treehouse I had built for myself, spending almost a month putting it together. A ladder rope hung from it to the base of the tree, and if a daredevil wanted to risk it, they could climb up into it and find inside a small bench and not much else. The real reason I built the treehouse was for my journals, which I figured no one could find in there. They were under a trap door in the treehouse, which I thought blended nearly seamlessly into the rest of the floor.
Snapping out of my dream of the tree upon arrival to it in reality, the dangling leaves welcomed me into their shelter. I parted the curtain and stepped inside, and instantly feeling at home. Clover rubbed up against my leg and I unhooked her from her leash, barely getting to pat her on the head before she took off to get a drink. I looked up at the branches winding as I made my way over to my chaise, blissful. When I looked down to sit, it seems as if something-- or someone, for that matter --had claimed residency to my spot.
"Clay?" I asked, furrowing my brow.
It was Clay, sitting there, sipping from a festive pineapple cup, neon sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose, which was buried in a biker's manual. His bike was propped up against the side of the Tree, and it didn't look much better than after the, um, incident the day before. When I said his name, Clay looked up from his book, seeming surprised that I was there.
"Oh," Clay said, moving his sunglasses up onto the top of his head. "You're the one who put all this junk under here?"
I was taken aback. "Junk?" I growled. "You sure look comfortable sitting on that junk."
"It's just an expression," he said and took a sip from his pineapple cup. Where did he think he was, Hawaii? Put a lei on the kid, and he would have looked beach-ready. "Anyway," he set his pineapple down in the dewy grass. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you think?" I gestured around. "Do you think I just put all this 'junk' here because I only visit once a year?"
"Maybe it's an annual ritualistic occurrence." Clay took his glasses from his forehead, philosophically twirling them between his index finger and thumb. I huffed.
"Because that would be why there is a track matted down from my footprints from yesterday." I retorted.
"Who knows? Studying patterns of animals is a very trying subject," he smirked.
"Charming." I said flatly.
"Isn't it?" Clay stood, moving over to his bike and toying with the gears. "Hey," he said, not looking up from the bike. "Tell me if this is too weird, but we're having this housewarming thing at my house tonight, and I didn't know if you'd want to come, but I mean, you're the only person I know here so far and-"
I cut him off. "I'd love to come," I hated when people got all awkward.
Clay smiled, relieved. "That sounds like a plan." He reached over and grabbed his bike manual off of the chaise, tearing out one of the back pages and scribbling his address down with a pen that had been lying in the grass. "It starts at 8."
"I'll be there," I said before walking back over to Clover. Apparently, the Tree wasn't going to be on our agenda today since someone was going to insist on intrusion. In truth though, it was fine by me, Clover and I would be back later that day or tomorrow anyhow.
Though it was early for Tia (read: 11 A.M.), I decided to head over to Tia's anyways. I was sure that she'd just love a visit from me before noon the day she got back from vacation, or before noon any day during the summer.
Before heading over there, I swung by my house to drop Clover off. The front lawn was littered with beer bottles, and there Matt was with only his shorts on, picking up the disaster, white trash bag in hand. Brad was snoozing on the porch steps this time. He also had a trash bag, but by the size of it, it didn't have any more than two or three bottles in it. At least he gets point for trying.
I walked over to Matt, who looked up at me with squinty eyes. Poor kid didn't even think about sunglasses. "Hey," Matt said. "Mind grabbing a bag and picking up a few?" I rolled my eyes, but still grabbed a bag out of the box next to him and began picking up bottle caps, which were somehow more abundant than the bottles.
"So, how was the party last night?" I asked.
"Uh," Matt paused. "I don't really know, I was away from it for a while," (read: "I was totally getting laid and didn't care").
"Look's like Brad had a grand ol' time," I motioned with my head over to the porch, where Brad's baseball cap was over his face, inflated every few seconds with his deep breaths.
"He so gone," Matt shook his head, laughing.
"I can see that," I snorted at Brad, who had rolled over off the porch and into the mulch, still sound asleep. "Is he okay?"
Matt shoved another bottle down into his already overflowing bag. "Only time will tell."
I laughed. Matt, although he had veered far off the path he'd been on, was still the same joking soul he had been his whole life. He had charisma I hadn't seen in anyone else before, which probably helped him further into the partying scene. Nevertheless, it was surely charming. If he ever got over this phase-- and I hoped that he would, no one likes a middle-aged man who still parties --he was going to have a fantastic life.
We cleaned in silence for a moment. My back was already aching from bending over. I really need to work out, I thought to myself. Finally, the last of the bottles were picked up, and I handed my bag over to Matt, who smiled at me gratefully.
"You always will help, won't you?" Matt said, ruffling my hair. I ducked away from his reach, embarrassed.
"Don't count on it," I said with a flat face before breaking into a smile. No matter what Matt or I did, we could always count on each other. I don't know if it was the brother-sister bond, or if it was his charming and charismatic ways, but we would be. Always.