The Library Thief

Daydreams and Dungarees

At precisely 5:12 AM the next Monday morning, the old-fashioned mechanical alarm clock on the dresser began to ring and clatter around sporadically. This was, by design, the precisely perfect wakeup time to allow for two snooze cycles. Without missing a beat, Alan's left hand began to grope around the nightstand for the clock, found it, and clicked its snooze button. Then, like an Egyptian mummy, he rested his hand over the other on his chest and began the process of mentally preparing himself for the day. This was, after all, supposed to be a pretty significant day in the scheme of things. It's not every day you begin high school.

By the second chime at 5:21, though still tired, Alan had begun to feel restless. He didn't bother setting the snooze again like usual, and instead sat up in bed and reached for his glasses. It wasn't quite that he was excited or nervous about beginning a new chapter in his life, but that he knew he was expected to be. At least, he knew he expected his family to be. He got out of bed and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Everyone in the house would still be asleep for another thirty-eight minutes or so. Without turning on the light, he disrobed, turned the shower knob, and began waiting for the water to heat up. After thirty seconds or so, he stuck his head in first, then stepped in and sat on floor of the tub. The lukewarm water poured over his head, like a rainstorm in the tropics, he imagined.

He his hand began to reach for the bottle of shampoo in the shower caddy, but just then, an unknown force gave him pause. Instead, he just sat there a few moments in the dark. Trying his best not to feel to cliché and unoriginal, it crossed his mind that maybe something really was different about this morning. People change as they grow up, he thought, but certainly some people make it a conscious action. If this was to be such a different part of his life, maybe he would make an effort to change--no, to improve himself. He massaged the shampoo into his hair and formed the foamy mass into a pompadour. "Thank you, thank you very much," he said in his best Elvis.

The thoughts subsided and he scrubbed himself clean, taking extra care to wash behind his ears. He got out, dried his dark hair with a towel until it stuck up on end, wrapped himself in it, then turned to head back to his room. His eyes, by now adjusted to the dark, barely caught a glimpse of himself in the fogged-over mirror. He turned and stared at the blurry figure, its only recognizable features the towel-dried shock of hair and a pair of hovering eyes shining back at him. Perhaps he couldn't be the only one that wished he was someone else.

Back in his bedroom, he sat atop his bed for another few minutes before he heard lights click on and footsteps down the hall. He clicked his lamp on too and turned his attention to the clothes he'd picked out for his first day of school. A plaid shirt lay folded neatly over a pair of ordinary denim blue jeans. He got dressed and looked in his bedroom mirror to smarten up. His hair now lay much flatter on his head, but his green eyes were just as bright. "Dungarees," he thought, a funny word he'd first heard in an old TV show his grandpa had been watching.

He walked down the hall to the stairs, past his sister's room, light still off, and climbed down the stairs. The scent of eggs and toast drifted from the kitchen, where his mom and stepdad already sat. When he entered the doorway, he saw his mom hovering by the stove, frying pan in hand. She turned towards him. "There he is," she smiled. 

Robert, Alan's stepdad, was a rather large man, and in most ways fit into the family like a square peg in a round hole. He sat at the other end of the kitchen with bright, curly blond hair, a few millimeters of which sat neatly atop his head. His arms were small tree trunks, and his shoulders broad and muscular. And while Alan, his mom, and sister had mostly pale skin, his complexion was tan to the point that most people assumed him to be either a gardener or Floridian on holiday. He was, however, a very kindhearted man, and his mom had married him for a reason. "Morning, buddy," he said, setting down his morning copy of the Wallstreet Journal, "looking sharp today."

Alan gave him a timid smile. While he'd had more than enough time to get used to having a stepdad, he could never help but feel their dissimilarities. 

"Breakfast? We made your favorite," his mom asked. 

Alan smiled but didn't have time to answer before his sister's heavy bounds were heard coming down the staircase. "Mom, does this dress look good on me?" She interrupted. She was wearing a bright yellow shirt that barely covered her stomach and a pair of bright white shorts that were probably too short for school. Alan rolled his eyes.

"Where did those come from?" Robert questioned. 

"I uh, borrowed them from a friend. Mom?"

"I don't think... Well, don't they uh, maybe seem a little short?" Stammered Robert, glancing at his wife for support. Her expression turned into an apologetic smile.

"Ugh, you ruin everything!" She screeched, running back out of the room as quickly as she'd arrived. Robert let out a heavy sigh.

Alan grabbed a plate from the cupboard and scooped onto it a piece of toast, its center neatly cut out and filled with a fried egg. "Nest eggs" as his mom called them, had been his favorite breakfast since he was a kid, and she'd always made them for breakfast on most big occasions in his life. His mom handed him a fork which he used to poke a hole in the egg, letting its yolk run over the toast. He sopped it up with the fried toast, took a bite, and briefly closed his eyes. "Thanks, mom, Robert." 

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, until Robert broke it, "Well, I'd better be off. Tim called in sick last night and I have stacks of paperwork. You're going to love high school, I know I did." Then, aside to Alan he whispered, "Make sure Neena puts something else on before going to school, okay? Please?" 

Robert gave Em a peck on the cheek and headed out the door with his briefcase. Alan could hear his car start in the garage and head down the driveway. Em gently tousled her son's hair. "You know, you can be whatever you want one day. High school's just another step to getting there."

"I know, mom. I'm not worried."

She smiled at him again. "I'm going to go finish getting ready for work. I love you, okay?"

"I love you too, mom," Alan replied. Then he was left alone in the empty kitchen. He could hear more footsteps going up the stairs, and above his sister probably fussing over what to wear. He finished the rest of his nest egg, did the dishes, and got his backpack ready to go. Neena came downstairs again, this time wearing an oversized sweater down to her knees, and grabbed her own backpack. 

"Let's just get this over with," she grumbled."