WHEN YOU FINISH SAVING THE WORLD ✸ Joel Miller

iii. The Continuing Morning

III.
The Continuing Morning
✸

2023

"WAKE UP!" IT'S A quarter past eight.

I muffle my groan with my pillow as I roll over. The last thing I want is to get out of this makeshift of a bed.

        "Are you up?" She knows me too well.

I lift my head from the fabric and rub my eyes. "Yes!"

I lay here for a moment, staring at my ceiling with the blanket off of me. The ceiling has paint all clustered together and it reminds me of how I ended up here. On the floor of an old apartment with paper-thin walls in Boston. At least in Philadelphia, I had a bed. But with the cost of a moving truck to cross the state border in a pandemic, I had to sell my bed. And our couch, and everything else.

Each morning as I attempt to stand up, I'm reminded of how hard the floor is beneath my aging body. We'd been living here for three months now but I don't think I'll ever get used to sleeping on this floor and the pain it leaves my back in.

Once I've brushed my teeth, I make my way into the kitchen. Hayden is sitting at the table with a box of crayons and a blank sheet of paper. I open the door to the cupboard and pull out a box of cereal, along with two blue bowls. I then went to the fridge and pulled a carton of milk out. There was just barely enough for one bowl, let alone two. I fill each bowl to it's brim with cereal then carefully add the milk.

My estimation was correct and I can't help but sigh as I stare at my plain cereal. Recovering, I grab two spoons and place one in each of the plastic bowls.

I place the bowl with milk in front of Hayden, careful not to let it splash on her book. She sets her crayon down and smiles up at me. "Thank you."

I like that she's honestly grateful for this. She's happy to have me and happy to have an apartment and happy to have an air mattress to sleep on at night. I made sure of it.

I may not be able to afford pancake mix or strawberries for breakfast but I was able to get her cereal with just enough milk. Although, it does make me sad to know she can't watch movies on a TV or hang out with friends. Cause she doesn't have any and I can't afford a TV.

Sure, Brian left us some money when he died, but the bastard barely had enough to cover rent for half a year.

I take a spoonful of the dry cornflakes in my mouth and watch as my daughter draws what appears to be a family portrait. "What are you drawing today?" I wonder aloud. The corners of her lips curl into a small smile and she holds it up for me to see. It's a heavily detailed drawing of me, a man I can't recognise, and her. "Who's the guy?"

       "Dad."

I re-examine the portrait and I can somewhat make out Brian's face. Somehow, Hayden remembered what her dad looked like nearly nine months after his death. "Ah." She continues drawing and I continue thinking. "You know I've got to work today, right?"

She nods.

        "Ms. Davis next door is going to watch you for a little while, but I'll be back before dinner time."

She nods again. I examine her features to try and see what she was thinking. They say that mothers can read their children's minds but I've never been able to read Hayden's.

I place my hand atop of hers from across the table and attempt to smile. "Love you, kiddo."

I try to tell her this whenever I can and whenever it's appropriate. It was one of the mistakes I had with Sarah, I didn't tell her how much I loved her nearly enough. And now I never will.

I look at Hayden and think it's the universe telling me that this is my second chance to have a daughter. My second chance to raise another perfect human being.