A Different Take On the Stationary Life

I woke up around 3 PM. Quite frankly, it was an awakening of falsehoods. Like a zombie back from the dead, I rose, commanded by the smell of roasting coffee grounds. My door was open, at first giving me a start, but then revealing a calm scene of two cats lying nonchalantly side by side. I lay back down and stared at a dark spot on my ceiling for about 5 minutes until my planetary thoughts were interrupted by a sharp call up the stairs. The drone of the microwave and stove fan was suddenly more audible to me with every yell of my name. I finally acknowledged her, my pseudo-mother (of the week?), Nancy. Nancy Walters enjoyed making breakfast for her children- her two biological ones. I guessed my breakfast had long gone cold as I neared the bottom of the steps and peered through the dimly lit hallway at the grandfather clock. 3 o'clock, Jesus, where has my day gone?

Nancy was waiting for me at the kitchen door with a pretense of impatience. "Come, sit down," she beckoned. This gesture made me anxious of being in a new home. How high was the count now? Often the kids at the home would compare tallies.

Nine, it's nine now, I thought as I grasped the smooth metal of a fork. Nancy was staring down at me with a plaster smile that reminded me of the women of Nick at Night.

Everything felt surreal. The cold metal suddenly felt plastic; as did the wooden seat I was resting on. This place was not my home.

I checked her expression to make sure she was not receptive of the sudden shockwave i had just experienced. I chewed the eggs slowly, carefully, savoring each bite as Nancy looked on. After the yolk of the second egg was gone and the untouched toast was fast becoming my fork's target, Nancy began a stack of laundry that occupied a side of the kitchen counter.

She folded clothes like an automaton, breaking the pattern only to smooth out a wrinkle or two. In my clumsiness, I dragged my butter knife across the china. The sudden screech brought her to a hault. She put her laundry down and resumed post hovering over the kitchen table with a thinner plaster smile. With earnest eyes, i managed to stutter, "I-I'm sorry."

She was taken aback with my words. What is this expression now? I tried hard to translate the look on her face, to search the atmosphere for any vibes. Was it gratitude? One glance at her face answered, "Certainly not." She calmed down a bit, but the redness in her cheeks had not completely died down, giving light to a recent slap in the face.

Now it was her turn to stutter, "Y-You don't have to worry about it, dear- No. No, not at all," Nancy seemed annoyed at herself for the uncomposed statement, "'S jus' that the social worker- Mr. Clemens- well, he said you don't talk. 'S'all." The southern belle in her was revealing itself in her diction, but although said with a warm tone, I shrunk at the mention of his name.

Sensing discomfort, Nancy straightened her already stiffly starched apron and went back to folding. Through quiet observation (and many mid-afternoon breakfasts), I came to learn that she would always fold laundry when no one, with the exception of me, was in the kitchen and that she would always make me coffee and let me sleep in, although she detested anything full of caffeine or gluttony. I finished my cup of rich, black coffee and retreated to my room without so much as a thank you to Nancy, assuming her content in her work with the pile of dryer-fresh whites.

Safe in my room, I looked out past the glare of the clouds- powder fresh with a tinge of oncoming rain. The perfect day for a walk, I thought, smoothing my hair. I smiled and climbed into bed, my outstretched leg coming into contact with the corner of my unpacked suitcase. I was planetary; there would never be a need to unpack.





** Please note that this story does have a point as it is the foundation of a 6 piece story conglomeration which is in the works. The 5 others will be about other characters, and more will be added to this story as those characters materialize. **