Divination

2 Parental Anxiety

     

 With a ferocious yawn I sit up in my twin, pillow-top bed feeling refreshed and I generously stretch the last of the tiredness from my body. It feels so nice waking up in the room I've grown up in rather than waking to an empty and stagnant apartment. My sleep was deep, dreamless and just what I needed after the four hour drive and late night with Mom and Dad. If my work gave me more time off, sleeping before making the drive would have been smart, but I really wanted to see them.

I glance at my alarm clock and notice that it's almost 10:00 am. Why in the world did I let myself sleep in so late, I groan to myself. Even after staying up late like the night before, it is unusual for me to sleep in because I feel compelled to wake up early and make the most of my day. I always feel like I will miss out on something if I don't get an early start.

I roll my lazy butt off my bed, the same one I've had since junior high and throw on my comfy clothes and fuzzy slippers. One of my favorite things to do in the morning is to slip my toes into the coolness of the slippers. I'm in love with the refreshing sensation of placing your warm feet into the icy depths. It helps me to wake up, thought not nearly as much as caffeine.

I pad lightly into the bathroom and flip the light switch. The room is instantly filled with soft lighting and I begin to brush my teeth and long blonde hair, the one thing I enjoy getting from Mom. I'm so glad she gave me thick sunkissed locks, unlike my porcelan skin, but what's a girl gonna do? No way am I going to lay in a tanning bed increasing my cancer risk. I never got why you would intentionally expose yourself to a known carcinogen.

I think I look pretty, even in a worn sweatshirt and jeans. I am blessed with clear skin, good teeth and a thin straight nose. What more could I ask for? I won't ever acheive supermodel status or anything, but I'm attractive enough. Looks aren't really good for anything besides attracting unwanted attention anyways.

When I finish my simple routien and I'm ready, I make my way to the kitchen, praying that Mom made her delicious coffee. Who am I kidding? I already know she did. Mom is the one who got me hooked on pour over and bought me my first ceramic pot. That pot served me well and developed my theory that your day is only as good as your first cup of coffee. So I make sure every cup is perfection.

The coffee brewed isn't pour over, but at least it is in a french press and that is almost just as good. I reach into the furthest corner of the cabinent to grab my favorite mug. As is usual I drink the coffee black because good coffee speaks for it'self in it's natural state and doesn't need any flavorings to make it taste wonderful. I shove my nose deep into the cup to relish the armoa.

I know my parents are awake as soon as I notice urgent whispers coming from their room. It sounds like whatever those two are talking about is serious. They must be withholding something from me because this has always been their routein and has always irritated me. If there is someting they don't want me to know they will stop talking when I enter a room or discuss it when they think I'm not around.

When I was a teenager I begged them to tell me what they were keeping from me. The only response I could got was, it's a parents job to protect their child, even if that meant keeping things from me. It hurt my feels back then because I thought it meant they didn't trust me, but I got over it. I quickly realized they would never tell me and they always have good intentions.

Mom elegantly strides into the kitchen, already dressed and groomed for the day. Her shoulder length hair is brushed and sprayed into place. She is dressed in the top I bought her a few Christmases ago, the grey long-sleeved one with turquoise geometric print. My mother is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.