I wake up the next morning on the floor with him, his arms around me and his head on my shoulder like a small child that fell asleep in the back seat of the car. His eyes flutter as he sturs in his sleep, and I suppose he's dreaming. The way he sturred last night made it seem so.
I smile to myself, then gently pry his grip off of me, not hard enough to wake him up though. Anyways, I've never met somebody so hard to wake up in my life. He could sleep through a war if you put him on the battle feild, I tell you. It's completely unfair.
Standing tall on my feet, I glance down at him, in fetal position like that small child I imagined him as. He has every right to be this tired after walking all the way here on a sprained ankle last night during the storm. Sometimes he can be so rediculous...such a boy. But I think that he thinks the same way about me, that I act like such a girl, the way I freak out at little things and can never say what I really mean. That's how most girls act, so I suppose he sighs to his friends about me as well.
I watch him sturr for a moment more, or two, then walk out of my room, yawning and stretching, and greeting the wide awake, wired by caffine, sparking Marcy. She's like a robot on weekend mornings, downing coffe like there's gonna be a famon, buzzing around doing motherly and wively duties while Tony and the baby sleep.
"Good morning." She says, raw and twitchy.
I look at her with a smile, knowing she's had too much coffee. "Marc, how many cups of coffee have you had this morning?"
She sets down her jumbo coffee mug and continues to work like she's powered by a steam engine, wiping everything down and pulling out breakfast ingredients at the same time. "Only three."
"Four tops." She says, looking back at me, trying to see if I beleive her. Her eye twitches, and I just shake my head at her, laughing.
"You, my friend, are going to have a heart attack before you're thirty." I say matter-o'-factly as she takes another large swig of her starbucks dark brew.
"Good. Then maybe Tony would pitch in a little." She says, sounding irritated.
I look at her, surprised to hear that the bitterness of her coffee has mixed with her words. She's never made a comment like that before about Tony. They always seem completely content and perfect, tied together.
"Every single time Shawn starts crying, has to be fed or changed, or anything he just sits there watching tv and looks at me, who has my hands full, and just whines 'Marc, could you get that, I'm tired.' He hasn't been up keeping Shawn quiet every night." She hisses.
"Why don't you say anything to him?" I ask her, cocking my head in surprise.
"I DID. And he is still just too fuckin' tired, isn't he!?" She says, slamming down her coffee mug. Then, she walks into the guest room. "If he asks, tell him 'I'm tired'."
I stare as she slams the door. "oh..."