Simplicity

Chapter 9

Arm, something soft. Meowing? Cat; Homer. Food. Morning? 

  “mmmm” I stretched my arms out behind me and rolled over, feeling that soft thing rub against my arm again “Hi, Homer” blinded by blankets; I reached out and ran my fingers through his soft fur, scratching him and stroking him.

  “Isla, that’s my head.” Cats don’t talk! I jumped and nearly fell off the bed, twisting and turning in my blanket in shock. Once I got my head out the white sheets, Alex’s blonde hair came into view. 

Oh yeah, he stayed the night, didn’t he?  I probably woke him up. “You’re not Homer.”

  “No, I’m not.” He said amidst a mass of yawns. Homer meowed again and I propped myself up on my elbows- he was circling the legs of the table, rubbing his cheeks against the hard wood.

Alex was lying on his side facing the window, his back was bare and pale against the dim light pouring in from behind the curtains. “What time is it?” he mumbled.

  “I don’t know.” I mumbled back. 

  “Check.”  Gughh. I rolled over and blinked as I tried focusing my groggy eyes on the neon digits of the clock on the side-table. It read: Sunday, November 11th 12:47 PM

  “It’s nearly 1 O’clock.” I said and he sighed in response. I felt the weight of the bed shift beneath me as he sat up, stretching his arms out above his head then letting his body go limp against the wall behind him. I wiggled my way towards him –wrapped up in my covers looking like a tie-dye caterpillar- and placed my head in his lap. As Alex ran his fingers through my hair, my eyes drooped and I could feel sleep catching up with me again.

It reminded me of when we were little except it would be the other way around; Alex would be the one to fall asleep with his head in my lap and I’d run my fingers through his soft, blonde hair. When we were little it used to be much lighter; an icy blonde. Well, mine was different too but not nearly as beautiful as his. My hair wasn’t scarlet red, as it is now but a deep strawberry blonde –or ginger to put it simply. I’d be made fun of, called all sorts of odd names that the other kids came up with like ‘carrot head’ or ‘rotten-berry’. I got sick of it and about 2 years or so ago I went and bought myself a pack of cheap, cherry-red hair dye from Wal-Mart. When I was done my ‘rotten-berry’ hair looked more like a freshly plucked one. Slowly, the memory blurred and faded out into dreams.

 She was curled up beside me, her head resting in my lap. She’d fallen asleep about an hour before I’d dozed off. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were pale. Is she feeling cold? I slid out from underneath her, cradling her head in my hands then placing it on one of her tie-dye pillows. She shifted herself slightly, curling up like a hedgehog. Her shirt was pulled up revealing her bare stomach and her tattoo of the astrological symbol for Scorpio just by her hip bone on the right -she believes in astrology and karma like others believe in religion. Her quilt was in a bundle at her feet and I stretched it out over her covering her bare legs and stomach. I looked up at the clock, it was already 4.00 PM.Mom’ll be worried. Better head home. I walked towards the table, grabbed a blue ball-point pen from the rack and looked around for a notebook. There was a dark blue one in the corner of the table with a yellow sticker labelled ‘stuff’ stuck to the cover. I flipped it open and it was all just doodles. Typical Isla. I tore a page out from the back and folded it in half then scribbled ‘I didn’t want to wake you up so, thanks for letting me stay last night. Sorry.’  onto it. I walked over to her side table and leaned it against the clock, knowing it’s the first thing she’ll see when she’s up.