Rise

“Beep, beep, beep!!”

Constance reaches over and turns off the blaring alarm. The neon pink numbers of the clock read 7:15 am. Another day, another dollar. It's time to get up out of bed and face another day at work. She doesn't want to get up today. She doesn't want to have to face another day in that waste of atmosphere. She hates it. She hates everything about it. Her boss doesn't appreciate her; her coworkers treat her as if she's invisible. The pay is minuscule at best. She looks to the ceiling for a sign that she should call in sick today. A fly on the wall, a flicker of sunshine creeping through the partially opened blinds...anything to show her that it's okay to just not be there, well physically anyway. She never feels like she's there mentally. She looks for some sign every day. Although the objects may change, the goal never does.

It’s going to be such a glorious day outside! She could take a leisurely stroll down to the local coffee shop, ‘Where Ya’ Bean?’ and have a caramel mocha, with nonfat milk of course. It’s important for one to watch one’s figure, after all. After grabbing her steaming hot cup of joe, she would walk around the corner to The Book Nook, the local bookstore. One of the benefits of living in a small town is that there aren’t many chains around. Sure, you have your McDonald’s and your Red Lobsters, but there are quite a few locally owned businesses that the townsfolk are more than happy to support.

After purchasing the kind of trashy paperback novel that she hasn't been able to enjoy since she was in her early 20's, Constance would walk to the local park, sip on her sweet, caffeinated nectar and read of heaving bosoms and windswept locks. That sounded like an all-right morning to her. And still, there was no fly on the wall, and not a sparkle of sunshine had shone through her bedroom window.

She flipped over on her right side. There sat two baskets of dirty laundry just calling out to her, begging to be doused in the glorious elixir from the mighty altar of Tide. She usually does laundry on Sundays, but yesterday she just didn’t feel like it. Today’s sentiment towards the mounds hasn’t seemed to change much, either.

She rolls onto her back again. Still no fly. Still no sunshine. Rolling onto her left shoulder, she saw a made-up twin bed. That old thing needs to be replaced. She hears a noise coming from the other side. The door swings open and in flies her son, Tyrell. He's holding a tray in his hands as he walks towards the bed.

“Good morning Mama!” he says with his brightest smile. “I made breakfast for you!”

Constance sits up in the bed as Tyrell places the tray on her lap. Being only nine years old, the extent of "making breakfast" is two pieces of toast with butter (he's not allowed to touch the stove by himself), a bowl of fruit cocktail, two pieces of microwaved bacon, a cup of coffee and a small glass of orange juice. He knows to be very careful with the coffee. He's never experienced a burn, but he knows enough about them to know that he never wants to, either. He kisses Constance on the cheek.

"Look, Mama, did you see? I made up my bed all by myself! I thought it would make you happy to see it all made up when you woke up. Was I right?"

Constance took a sip of her juice and smiles at him. "Yes baby, you were right. I'm very proud of you, thank you." She set down her juice and rubs the top of his curly-haired head. It has gotten pretty long, but not by design. It is definitely time to take him to the barber for a fresh cut. She takes a bite of toast and looks at Tyrell, puzzled. "What's going on, Little Man? What are you doing up so early? Your bed is made, you're dressed for school, and you made me breakfast. What's up?"

Tyrell beams at his mama. “Nothing’s up, Mama. I know you got in late last night from work. Mama Gladys put me in bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I was too busy coming up with ideas!”

He’s right; it had been a long night at work. Constance’s downstairs neighbor Gladys is a godsend on nights when she has to pull a double shift. “What kind of ideas, sweetheart?”

He jumps off of the bed and shows her his feet. His canvas shoes are patched with duct tape and dinosaur stickers. "Well, I know that there isn't money for new shoes right now, so I wanted to figure out a way to make my old shoes cool so I can wear them a little longer. What do you think?"

“What do I think?” she says, pride swelling in her chest as fresh tears well into her eyes. “I think they look awesome. Almost as awesome as the artist who created them!” She leans forward and plants a kiss on his forehead.

"Thank you, Mama. Oooh, I almost forgot! I have a spelling quiz this morning! I'm going to go study a little bit, so I'll be ready. Call me when you finish eating and I will come get the dishes, okay?"

“Okay baby.”

Tyrell walks over to the bedroom door, looks back at her and blows her a kiss. He runs down the short hall to his bedroom to get his backpack and spelling list. She loves that boy fiercely. They have been struggling financially for a while now, but he never lets it get him down. He is always helpful around the house and does anything his mama asks of him. One day she is going to get them out of this tiny one bedroom apartment and into something better, something deserving of her young prince. She knows that day will not be today, but today will be the day she can get him a new pair of shoes.

Every morning Constance looks for a sign. Today it was a fly, a ray of sunshine. Today she gets both. Her son flying into her arms. His breakfast, his smile and his attitude the sparkle of sunshine in an otherwise dim room. She moves her breakfast tray aside and swings her legs over the side. She glances at the neon pink numbers of the clock. They read 7:30 am. Another day, another opportunity.