Smile

To the Cadence of my life.

Smile

The alarm went off at exactly seven, but I was already awake before it unleashed its intense buzzing intended to startle the living ketchup out of anybody who has the misfortune to hear it. My eyes were already open at six, and I was already in the shower by six-ten. By six forty-five I was already changed and having breakfast, watching the morning news on the television.

Now, if you have known me for an ample amount of time, then you'll know that Early is NOT my middle name. Then why, the reader will ask, is this happening? Why is this sorry loser forcing himself up at six in the morning? Before I can tell you the answer, I must first tell you this story. Actually, I must first chastise you for calling me a sorry loser, and then I will tell you this story.

            Although I am infamous for my tardiness, I rarely forget things. Give me a random twenty-digit number and I can automatically recite it back to you instantly. Give me the first fifty digits of pi. Done. I've memorized the Pentateuch, all the known guitar chords, and all the serial numbers of all the banknotes that I've used. But all these things are useless in my brain. They just sit there, dormant, taking up precious space in my encephalon. However, there are some things that I remember rather vividly from my childhood; some memories I prefer not to think about ever again, and some others I will treasure all my life. Two memories I will share with you, dear reader, one from each category.

            In both of these memories I am fifteen, in my sophomore year at Aperture High. School life is tolerable and rather satisfactory. I was never a butt of jokes, nor did bullies ever target me. My grades were commendable and tended to stay on land (above "C" level. Yes, please feel free to laugh. Or boo. I can't hear you anyway.), and my mother never had to fret over my grades. Socially, I tended to stay closer to a band of closer friends rather than fitting into a platoon of others who couldn't give a crap for you. Because of this, I never became known as one of the "popular" kids, nor have I ever felt loneliness. People were generally accepting towards me, but I wouldn't be on their list of people who they would invite to a Christmas dinner. I have been at Aperture for as long as I can remember, but because of my reserved behaviour and tendency to shy away from large clusters of people, I have grown used to life in the shadows. I was always that guy who's just there. 

        A shadow.

            Let's start with the bad memory, shall we?

            It's a cool, crisp, autumn morning, and the days are starting to get shorter. That is, until that day.  

That night, my mother was taken away from me in her sleep. Cardiac arrest. When I found out in the morning, I went numb for a while, listening to the medics tell my father what exactly happened to my mother. After that the lawyer came in and tried to talk to Dad about Mom's last rites, but at this point both my father and I were just too oblivious; too shocked, to care. I finally broke down later that night, after waking up a little after midnight. I had flashback dreams of the fondest memories that I had with Mom, but every time she opened her mouth to talk, no sound would come out, her face would just disappear, the scene would switch to some other memory, and she remained mute.

When I finally got to go back to school, I was still very heavily traumatized by what had happened. Although my friends were all there to comfort me, there was nothing they could have really said that could help relieve the burden on my heart. I could barely concentrate during classes, sometimes spacing out for entire periods at a time. The school counsellor scheduled an appointment with me, but the inexperienced woman asked questions that only merited monosyllabic answers. I spent the rest of autumn in a state of melancholic silence. Christmas was a lonely affair, and the Sparks household was probably the only one whose lights were already off at ten in the entire country. Most of the break was spent thinking about Mom, looking through pictures, listening through her favourite albums, reading her books, and eating her favourite foods. Cumulatively, my father and I probably exchanged about twenty sentences throughout the break.