Don't Forget to Write

A Not-So-Shitty Morning

When I woke up the room was gray with the hazy early morning light before the sunrise and Camila was fast asleep on my shoulder. My foot dangled off the edge of my twin-size bed. I eased her head off of me and onto a pillow, then got up and covered her with a blanket.

I put on clothes and walked into the kitchen, Bruno was walking in as well, with his hair messier than it usually was in the morning. He nodded good morning to me with a smile.

"You never smile in the morning," I croaked. He shrugged as he opened the fridge and pulled out five eggs for himself. "Wow, quite the appetite, eh?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

"You wake up too early," Camila's voice came from the hallway. She appeared in the kitchen with my t-shirt on. "Oh, hi Bruno."

"Oh, hey, Camila," he said. He turned away from her to walk back to the stove and raised his eyebrows at me with a mischievous smile.

There was a low creak of a door opening. "Bon-Bon, why are you up so early," Diane's voice cut through the quiet apartment. She was wearing Bruno's shirt, her hair a mess in front of her face as she rubbed her eyes. When she put her hands down her eyes widened with surprise. "Oh, you have to be kidding me," she said when she saw Camila. We all laughed at each other and at ourselves.

"You ladies sit on the couch, make yourself comfortable. Bruno and I will make breakfast. Our options are pretty limited, but we make great toast." I said. They sat on the couch and talked in hushed tones, giggling to each other like school girls.

I stood next to Bruno at the stove. "How many eggs should we cook... Bon-Bon?" I said.

"Shut up."

"Aw stop. It's such a cute little nickname. Ya know, my aunt used to have an adorable poodle named Bon-Bon. I think it fits you better, though. You're more chocolate colored." He rolled his eyes at me.

We cooked all of the eggs we had left and toasted the last of our remaining bread. We even made the last of our oatmeal with a layer of sliced banana (our last one) on top. The only food left in our cupboards was ramen noodles, a jar of peanut butter, and some granola bars. The girls chatted up a storm while Bruno and I ate in silence.

"You guys are quiet," Diane said. "You hungover?" Bruno and I were shoveling down the last of our eggs.

"Mornings," we said. Bruno shook his head at her. "We aren't very social in the morning," he assured her.

"What a couple of grumpy gills." Camila said, pinching my cheek. I turned and squinted, giving her my best death stare. She looked at my eyes, giggled, completely unfazed, glanced up at my scar, then returned to eating her food. "Why don't you like mornings? I love them. They are a bright new day, a reminder that you're still alive! And you have a whole day of life to enjoy ahead of you!"

"Oh my god you're one of them," I said.

"One of who?"

"One of those Ryan-Seacrest-type morning people."

"Oh, I love Ryan Seacrest! He has such a nice smile."

I shook my head.

After breakfast, Camila and I went back to my room and we played my music loud through the speakers while we had our fun. After an hour or two I went to the kitchen to get water and heard that Bruno and Diane were also playing loud music.

In the afternoon Camila and Diane left together. She kissed me goodbye and gave me a look that said we would be seeing each other soon. I plopped on the couch next to Bruno, both of us were tired, sore, and possibly dehydrated.

"I think that's the best workout I've had since soccer," Bruno said.

"Same."

"FIFA?"

"Sure," I said, pouring us each a big glass of whiskey.

"Take that hat off man, it's a million degrees in here aren't you sweaty?"

I took off my beanie, and he didn't look at the ugly scar that was underneath.

We sat on the couch for hours and drank, chatted, and joked the whole time, both of us on top of the world. For today, life was good, and that underlying sadness deep in the back of my mind was quiet.