The Redemption

Complacent

    "Good morning sunshine," a sweet voice rang in my ear. I peek one eye open and catch a glimpse of my alarm clock. 6:25. I let out a grumble and flip so that my back is to my mother. "Hey now, you don't want to be late for school."

    "Maybe I do," I mutter. Mom starts to rock my shoulder back and forth so I have no choice but to get up; she's not leaving until I do. I fling off my covers and swing my legs over the side of my bed just barely missing the slippers I had set out the night before and my bare feet touch the cold, smooth floor. I wince just slightly before placing my feet in my blue slippers. "One day won't kill me; it'll just hinder my perfect attendance."

    "I know deep down, through all this morning sarcasm, you'd be upset if you messed up your attendance. A little thank you would be nice, you know, since I woke you up after your alarm turned off," she hinted as she nonchalantly turned away from me as if she weren't waiting for a gesture of gratitude.

    "Thank you, Mother dearest, for being so loving and caring that you would step out of your morning routine to stir up a somnolent teenager who is also your daughter. By the way, the root of all her sleepless nights is the prison-like infrastructure you have so adamantly insisted that attendance is to be as keen as possible." I gave her a glare but my demeanor softened as she kissed my forehead.

    "Oh hush, Kendyll Reagan. Get ready and then head to the kitchen for breakfast." I halfheartedly mumbled an agreement to her command. "I love you, sweetie! Now time to wake the difficult child." It's not so much my brother is difficult the way I am to where I develop a smart mouth, he is practically dead to the world when he is sleeping. Mom deserves an award of some kind for having the persistence to actually bring Kyle to any form of alertness.

    I lazily get dressed and ready for school; a gray long sleeve shirt, black leggings, and red fuzzy socks were already laid out on my bed: a typical outfit for me. I trade my blue slippers for black combat boots and trudge towards my bathroom to turn on my straightener. I may not care about the clothes too much, however, I can't stand my natural hair. I always have to fix my mess of auburn waves in the morning even though everyone tells me they're pretty.

    I walk downstairs to find my mother happily munching away on a blueberry muffin. I don't know how she has the energy every morning to make breakfast for the three of us when I barely have the energy to eat the food in front of me. Not even two minutes after my arrival at the dining room table, Kyle made his appearance prevalent by tripping over the foot of the table and knocking my glass of orange juice off of the table.

    "Stupid," I laugh, finally starting to wake up. Kyle groans as he limps over to the counter. "Hey gimpy, you're fine! You hardly hurt the table so I don't see how you are hurt," I state while gesturing to the perfectly fine table leg.

    "Thanks for your medical input, Dr. Kendyll!" Kyle sarcastically replies. He grabs a handful of paper towels and walks to the mess he made. I smirk as I watch him clean up the juice.

    I put a hand on the table leg and move my head closer as if I'm giving it a thorough inspection. "Hmm... Looks like you knocked some screws loose," I determine. "However, they aren't in the table; they're in your head." I lightly brush my hand over the top of his hair.

    "Thanks, Dr. Kendyll the carpenter!" He responds as he throws a sodden paper towel stained orange in my direction. Luckily, I dodged the mess, but it landed at the feet of Mom. She gave us "the look" and the two of us hang our heads and don't say anything as we finish cleaning the dining room. Mom is usually always cheery but her mad or angry side is a scary territory to enter. Kyle and I both agree to keep our mouths shut in these types of situations to avoid throwing fuel on the fire.