As We Are

-today, as is-

2:oopm

It's sunny today. Warm with a slightly cool breeze.

I'm situated in a bean bag chair on my back deck, laptop balanced on my thighs, splayed out in the suns inviting embrace. There's a mower in the distance, the odd car on the highway, too.

My dog is asleep beside me, snoring softly, freshly washed.

The tin roof above creaks and crickets chirp, hidden  somewhere in the garden. 

A cabbage moth flits past, across the lawn, over the fence.

Clouds cover the sun, just for a minute.

A lone bird sings somewhere in a neighbors tree.

The calm makes me drowsy, so I place my laptop to the side, stretch out in the sun.

Close my eyes.

3:00pm

A car horn sounds, a dog starts barking.

I go inside, make myself a cup of tea.

It's quiet, but it won't be for long. In a minute, maybe two, the purr of a road bikes engine will announce the arrival of my dad and youngest brother.

The door will open, keys jangling, greetings made. Shoes will clatter to the ground as they're kicked off of sweaty feet, a schoolbag will land on a chair with a thump.

'Hello's' and 'How are you's' will resound throughout the house-

-Ah, there it is, the purr. Other sounds, too.

The barking of our dog, the shrieking of a child and the cry of a baby from our neighbors yard, the crunch of gravel underfoot.

I sip my tea and wait.

4:00pm

A talk show plays in the background, overshadowed my dad's snoring figure, asleep on the couch.

I'm halfway through my second of two banana pancakes. The taste of buckwheat flour and cinnamon brings me back to my childhood.

The dog barks. 

My sister is home, my brothers leave, I stack my dishes; retreat to my bedroom.

Slip out of denim shorts and into an old, stained pair of sweatpants. Pull the loose slip of off-the-shoulder cotton over my head, the pink-blossomed fabric traded for a dark navy sweater. Mismatched socks  -one pink and stripy, the other white with a turquoise heel- salvaged from beneath messy bed covers, cover my cold, bare feet.

I sit on my bed.

My window is covered with an old, cream-coloured sheet, casting the room in a dim yellow light.

The room around me is a disaster; clothes, clean and dirty alike litter the floor, the vanity a mess of makeup and hair products and discarded coffee cups (the bedside table is similarly adorned). Drawers hang open, the clothing within unfolded. Half-packed moving boxes block the doorway, and the desk is decorated with dying plants and crumpled paperwork.

I'll clean it in a minute. Really.