The Cascading Waves of Caden Lee

02

Caden Lee

I wake up a week later to relentless banging.

"Caden, up, now!" My mom screams, causing me to groan loudly and roll over on my bed. I swear, I never realize just how comfortable beds are until I have to get out of mine in the morning.

After a few more bangs on the door, my mom leaves with a, "and I mean it! I better not have to come back up here!"

With a sigh, my eyelids flutter open. The light from my window seeps in and blinds me, and I blink my eyes rapidly in order to adjust to the harsh change in lighting. It takes all of me to not close my eyes and fall back asleep right this moment. But I don't, I sit up sluggishly—grumbling complaints as I do so, what is there to enjoy about mornings?—and feel the cold wooden flooring of my bedroom come in contact with my feet.

And before I know it, I've gotten dressed into the first thing I could grab in my organized closet and brushing my hair. I'd say I'm an organized person, not by choice, but it's that my mom would freak if I was anything but. She's extremely neat-freak and forces the whole house to be as well, none of us are though.

A few more knocks on my door, "you up and ready?" My moms noticeably more calm than before. I'm glad I didn't choose to fall asleep earlier. "Yeah, almost ready!" I yell back, not a loud yell, but just loud enough for her to hear me. Footsteps patter away, and I turn back to my reflection in the mirror. Brown hair—freshly combed—smooth tan skin with not an eye bag in sight, brown eyes and bright features.

I see this every morning, though sometimes I don't recognize myself. Like I'm staring at a distant stranger in the mirror I have an inkling I've seen before. But that doesn't happen today. It's just me, Caden, I feel normal. That's good, so I stand up with a resounding huff and grab my backpack off the floor. It's a black north face one, I've had it for years, and it's falling apart by the minute.

I open my door, hurry down the staircase and spot my sister sitting at the dining table. Younger by 3 years and in the 8th grade, she definitely fits the 'younger sister' cliche, though I don't love her any less. Even if she's insanely 14-year-oldish at times. I step into the small kitchen and she glances up, raising a singular trimmed brown eyebrow at me. Her hair is curled today, and eyeliner lines her blue eyes.

"Hey," I murmur, strolling into the pantry and doing a quick glance around it to see what we have.

"Do we have cereal?" I ask, not noticing the boxes normally prominent to first glance. She points to her bowl and then the trash can, where I just realize she finished the cereal. It's captain crunch, my favorite.

"Oh, come on, Jessie!"

"What?! Not my fault you weren't getting out of bed." She widens her eyes at me, rolling them when she's met with silence and stuffing another spoon of cereal in her mouth. I'm suddenly filled with the bitter feeling of watching her eat the last of my favorite cereal.

She doesn't seem to care, so I just roll my eyes as well and open the refrigerator. There's grape juice sitting there. May not be a juice normally meant for breakfast, but I'm absolutely obsessed with grape juice. Like, seriously obsessed, I drink it every day and I've stained numerous things with it. The cup I grab is plastic and red, and I pour the juice into it as Jessie continues to eat her breakfast.

My mom walks into the room, "ready to go Jessie?" And when Jessie turns around and gives a thumbs up, she nods and signals that she's getting in the car. She finishes the last of her cereal, pours the milk in the sink and rinses the bowl, then walks into the garage without a word. It goes like this every morning, the only morning person in this house is my mom. And even she gets grouchy during mornings.