The last 4 years

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
For the last 4 years my morning has gone the same.

Submitted: October 11, 2015

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Submitted: October 11, 2015

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Every morning begins the same, waking to the only thing that verbally wishes me good morning. My alarm. “Good morning, good morning, good morning.” it repeats for eternity until I open my eyes, heavy from my nights slumber, raise my arm, and silence the one thing that verbally wishes me a good morning. I slowly wake, my body stretching to prepare itself for another monotonous day.

I lazily swipe the bed sheets to the side and slowly swing my legs over the edge of the bed, pausing for a moment to rub my back for my old friend pain has returned to wish me a merry and productive day as he always has without missing a day for the last 4 years. Leisurely I rise and walk to the door, avoiding the pile of dirty clothes that I have yet to wash. Gently I grasp the glass door knob, slowly turning it, squinting as the sun filters through the small crack in my door, greeting my eyes with it’s warm, bright presence.

Letting out a sigh of defeat I pull the door the rest of the way open, allowing the sun to bathe my body in it’s warm glow, pausing for a moment to let the warmth soak into my skin, waking my tired bones and giving them the energy to move once again. Slowly I begin to move once more, longing to remain in the sun’s warm glow. I silently pass my brothers room, the door closed, how it shall remain till late in morning, just how it has been for the last 4 years. I make my way to the worn staircase, lightly I grab the railing and descend the stairs. Near the bottom I slowly step over the laundry basket put in place to stop the dog from making her way upstairs.

Now on the threshold of the kitchen I ease my way across the floor, glancing over to see my mother preparing dinner for the day in the slow cooker. Not one word is uttered as I shuffle across the floor to the laundry room and retrieve one of my multiple flannel shirts from a hanger in my overstuffed locker. Casually I make my way back across the kitchen floor, mechanically sliding my arms through the shirt sleeves, just as I have done for the last 4 years. Still no words are uttered by my mother as she goes about her morning, nor by myself as I trudge along. I leave the kitchen and round the corner, following my normal routine to the letter, grabbing socks, jeans and boxers as I pass them on my way back upstairs. Reaching my room again I gently close the door and sit on the edge of my bed, buttoning my old, worn shirt. Slowly I remove my shorts from the night before, letting them fall to the floor and replacing them with my boxers. Bending over once to put on my jeans I freeze halfway down as my old friend pain pays me a visit one last time to check in and see how I am fairing this wonderful morning. I slowly continue to floor and slide one leg at a time through my worn out jeans.

I lower myself onto the edge of my bed once more, placing the socks on my feet and then easing my feet into my worn shoes that I have next to my bed, tying them tightly as I have done all my life. Rising for the last time I grab my phone, my keys and my wallet, sliding them into their respective pockets. Walking to the door for the last time, I glance back into my room wistfully thinking how nice it would be to lie back down. With a heavy heart I close the door as I do every morning and return down stairs as I have for the last 4 years.

I cross the kitchen floor one last time and exit through the garage door to get in my car. I ease the old door open and slowly climb into the old interior. Closing the car door I insert the key into the worn starter, as I grasp the key I freeze realizing I forgot something. Stepping out of my car I go back into the kitchen and grab my lunch from the counter top.


The lunch my mother has prepared for me, just as she has for the past 4 years.


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