Quiltwork Ch. 04

The clinking of the cutlery against plates, shaking and twisting of the salt and pepper shakers, and the occasional sound of a chair (usually mine) scraping against the floor all indicated that dinner was reserved for eating, nay, devouring the meal set before us.

Dessert, however, was for discussion.

"--and that's how ol' Bert ended up finding the CEO of Messy Ink," Dad said, chuckling at his pun.

He'd already told me this story a hundred times, reliving the 'glory days' of his 'rebellious' childhood, but I still cracked a smile out of respect for the play on words, which, after looking at Helen and Molly, seemed to have been lost on them.

Fortunately, Dad's well-timed follow-up struck again with:

"As in, I got into messes due to the ink 'spilling' out of the cartridge, and I was the head mess-maker at my school, which makes me the Chief Executive Officer of Mess Incorporated, or Messy Inc., for short."

A slight snort escaped right as I tried to swallow a heaping helping of apple pie, sending me into a coughing fit that forced me to chug water while Helen and my Dad both got up to perform the Heimlich.

Waving them off proved more difficult as they insisted on at least thumping my back to clear my airways, nearly restarting my delightful lung spasms. By the time my eyes cleared away the tears, I had already reassured them (twice) that "it had gone down the wrong pipe," and shown them my healthy esophagus by finishing off my glass of water and taking three deep breaths.

Picking up my plate and placing in the sink to rinse, I excused myself from the rest of dessert, citing homework for my early depature. Climbing up the stairs to reach my room proved more difficult than in the afternoon, but I had a Quiz and a Quest to get to, and I'd previously told my friends I'd be online an hour ago.

However, neither struck my fancy as I entered my room, being drawn instead to my bed with sleep overtaking me as soon as my feet hit the bed.

7:06 PM

Waking up, I put on my uniform before brushing my teeth and heading to the outhouse.

"Wait a second, the outhouse isn't fully connected to the power lines, so you have to--"

I changed the radio station to 74.3 AM, which didn't mute the sirens, but altered the pitch until it became a song that sounded a lot like--

Buzz, beep-beep beep, beep. Buzz beep-beep, bee--

I opened my phone to ensure I didn't hit snooze by accident, and triple-checked to make sure my eyes weren't still half-asleep.

"12 hours, and I still feel tired. What gives?"

I laid in my bed for a couple of minutes to collect myself (and to try to squeeze out a couple of extra zz's), but the light in my window made an excellent argument for getting out of bed. That, and the fact that I was famished, still dressed in yesterday's clothes, and hadn't brushed my teeth.

Adding a dollop of toothpaste before realizing I hadn't charged my toothbrush conjured up a smile, which quickly turned into an excavation into last night's feast, and ended with some flossing (as I was determined to one-up my dentist and get a "well done" on my next visit). After clearing out my mouth of any remnants of the frothy substance, I smiled and clicked my tongue before saying---

"Looking gooooood."

My mirror self imitated my movements perfectly. Almost uncannily. I quickly moved my right foot, switching my stance into a crouch before pushing off and twisting around and---

thunk

I wobbled for a few seconds as I realized what I'd bumped into, with my legs catching up, albeit a little slower than I anticipated. Fortunately, I hit the door on its short side. Unfortunately, I'd hit my back... with its edge. Like the grown man I was (18 is old enough to vote, get married, and get charged as an adult, after all), I only let in a short breath, followed by a deep exhale as sensation returned to the rest of my back.

Following that near-death experience, I readied myself as usual: 'shave', shower, and snack. I guess it's normally referred to as 'breakfast' but my refined palate refused to recognize--

"Breakfast is ready! It's your favorite: Eg-gone," Helen called out, breaking my reverie.

Jokes aside, I'd really come to appreciate a warm, semi-healthy meal to start the day, especially when presented with the options of either a jam-topped, honey-slathered, syrup-dowsed, or buttered waffle (for long days, I'd grab an extra), with sides ranging from scrambled eggs, strips of bacon, grilled sausage, and, on rare occasions, hash browns. Each dish rotated, allowing for a greater degree of freedom in choosing and enjoying my first meal of the day.