I'm Fine

Chapter 2 Martin

The day was like those I used to have as a kid, a really, really younger me. When colors were bright and fresh, the world seemed to go on forever under that forgiving sky. I'm talking about a blue sky that would be your friend, protect you from tears, a sky I'd stargaze into while lying in my dewy grass, with a bowl of Cheerios. Cheerios were my life summed up, they were simple, sweet, honey, and cheery. Winding through most of my Cheerio one-digit years until that fateful day when the sky first turned its back on me. The sky was the color of snow in March. Snow that is charcoal grey from car exhaust.

I was wearing my red Lightning Mcqueen pjs- which used to only be known as jammies for me, where I saw my mother crying at the table. That was the first time I remember seeing a grey sky. The same colour of grey that I now see on my attic's TV while playing a retro version Super Mario Brothers, a classic I found in my father's trunk. It was early, I'd guess about five in the morning, and even in my sleep I couldn't rest.

My attic is one of my closest friends. My mother never went up into the attic, she never went anywhere besides, her bedroom, the kitchen and where she worked honestly, and even my little brother knew his boundaries. I pushed all the boxes and mementos to the farthest wall out of the way, which took a chunk out of the room, but also made space for my couch, hand-made coffee table, TV, and desk smuggled from curbsides. I also fit a foosball table and mini fridge which sucked up my entire savings from last summer. It was not a pretty day when I moved it all up there but it was worth the almost back injury I had. The walls used to be a thin sheet of drywall covering up the insulation, but now it's caked in blank canvases and paintings I've done. Some as small as a sticky note and others as large as a movie poster. There's a skylight in the attic, that at the right time of the day lined up to illuminate my painting spot but at five in the morning, that was not one of those times and the faint navy skipped over the rooftop.

My TV was muted so as not to wake my mother, or Asher, but I can still hear the bubbly music from the screen by memory. I felt a slight migraine coming on so I set the TV into black and white mode and instantly my eyes feel relieved. Migraines look like stones, not quite branching out, but sitting in one place letting it bear all weight. I expel it with the irresistible dapping of the brush which I am now addicted to. For someone as perbative as I am, everything I touch becomes a mess, the fumes from the tin in my pocket trap my nose as soon as I set my controller down.

I reach into my pocket and feel the similarity of my beloved altoids tin, I may forget my phone, wallet and keys but I never leave my altoids tin behind anywhere.

Caked with acrylic stains, it is high maintenance but no less of a luxury, a tiny sealed luxury that's my secret. I wipe away the stains of the previous day and squirt in a dollop of primary and secondary colors from the deformed paint tubes that are lying around everywhere. I like the smell of paint, it means two things to me, either my paracosms are being created or someone else's. Paracosms is my favorite word, it means elaborate imaginary worlds. Paint is the one portal from my worlds to the one before my eyes.

I sealed the tin and returned to playing Super Mario Bros. I suck at retro games, but there's no point in going back to sleep, my sleep schedule won't be recharged from only an hour or two of sleep, I won't wake up and so what's the point? In adult words I 'rot my brain' until six when I scarf down a bowl of fruit and yogurt. I'm not a videogame player but I think of Super Mario Brothers as brain food, especially when my lack of skill factor goes into playing it, exercising my mental reflexes and interacts with my subconscious brain. Neither my mother nor little brother, Asher, are awake by the time I stack the empty plate into the dishwasher, they usually don't wake up until the last minute on mornings, especially when they belong to Monday.

I'd sneak in a work-out after breakfast but I have unfortunately reached a dry spot in motivation and only do that when I go to the gym with the guys on Saturdays. So instead I pack my mother and Asher's lunches. A PB&J for Asher, with a bag of chips, apple slices and a pop tart (gotta give him at least one good elementary school lunch trader's item) and for my mother I pack a simple fruit bowl and granola bar with no nuts or dairy. My mother works as a nurse, primarily in the allergy treatment center, so I've used Google to help me prepare lunches avoiding the most common food allergies (nuts and dairy).

When my mother and brother do come downstairs, bags still resting underneath their eyes. I could tell my mother had another sleepless night. I had eggs and ham on the stove, and bread in the toaster, while I made my mother coffee and poured my brother milk. I'm a 1950's trophy wife reimagined as an 18 year old high school senior. My octopus arms only work so fast, I burnt the toast to a degree, dribbled some of my mother's coffee on the counter and have neglected the eggs for too long.

"Hurry up, Cinderella" Asher called stupidly from where he stood, eyes glued to the tablet at his respected spot at the kitchen table. Asher gave me the nickname when I began lending a hand with the morning routines, since someone had to get everyone out of the door.

"I'll be right to you, sleeping beauty" So I repel with a combination of princess names and occasionally, 'your royal highness' of course for however long I've made breakfast I can never quite make things right, I know my brother twirls his food around with his fork for a while before sneaking it into the trash, and my mother is to burnt out to notice anything. Nevertheless I still try, it's what keeps me going.

"It's a beautiful day to save some lives" I yell to my mother as I literally drag my brother into my car like he's some kind of criminal and I'm the police officer. I hope that got a smile out of her, she used to curl up onto our living room couch and watch Grey's Anatomy, pointing out every single medical mistake made. I often worry about her, she's been out of it, since dad was gone and I think it's taking a toll on Asher. It's odd that I've lived over half my life without him.