The Morning Of... (pt 1)

I prayed I wouldn’t wake up this morning, then I hear the absurdly annoying buzz of my phone next to me. I have to come to terms with the fact that there is no escaping the hell that was awaiting me today. I feel a tear stream down my face. I am not sure if it is from the light scorching my retinas or if it’s a leftover tear from my own cries last night, either way, I let it fall to the pillow. I roll over and look at the clock; it’s 9:00 am, a cruel and unusual punishment for a 22-year-old to be awake at 9 am on a Saturday in the middle of July.

I know I have to get up, I have too much to do. I start to make a mental list of the things that need to get done: if I wake the boys now, I look at the clock. Fuck, it’s 9:15 now. If the boys get out of bed by 9:30, I can make breakfast while they shower and brush their teeth. Then eat by ten and get them ready by eleven. Then, I can hop in a shower and be dressed and ready to go by 11:40. Hopefully.

I roll, ever so gracefully, out of bed tripping over my shoes from last night, I find a dirty OSU sweatshirt and throw it on. I turn on my speaker and make sure the volume is all the way up. I grab my phone before I make my way down the hall to the first bedroom door. I open the door to a room dirtier than my own, which is saying a lot. The walls are covered with sports posters and half-naked supermodels. I look to the bed and hear a grumble and a moan as the creature under the covers rolls over. I step over the takeout boxes and empty water bottles.

Somehow I manage to find the bed. I jump up on the bed and hit play on my phone. The music starts to fill the house: “Just a small town girl livin’ in a lonely world…”

“Callie if you don’t shut the fuck up right now I am going to fucking kill you.”

I start to dance on the bed, bouncing the mattress up and down. “Goooood morning Conner. It’s time to get up lazy butt, breakfast in 30. Also language.”

I jump down and exit the room, leaving the door open so he can enjoy the morning playlist dad carefully curated when we were younger. I go to the next door, it is decorated with an obnoxious “DO NOT ENTER” sign which I ignore. The bunk beds were also dad’s idea, he always said that twins deserve bunk beds. I think he was just trying to make Cameron and Christian feel better about having to share a room. They weren’t even really twins, but they are less than a year apart and practically inseparable. When I open the door I see Christian reading his comic book and Cameron playing video games on the computer across the room. “Don’t worry, we’re awake.”

“This is why you guys are my favorites. Downstairs for breakfast in 30, I want you showered and brushed by the time you come down. That means the dorky stuff has to be put away, like now.” I blew a kiss and walked out.

I hum along to the chorus of “Don’t Stop Believin’” as I finally come to the door at the end of the hall. I open the door to find Chase snuggled up with his favorite stuffed animal. I crawl into his twin-size bed and pull him into my chest, “good mornin’ Chasie.”

“Callie, are Christian and Cam really your favorites?” He says muffled into my sweatshirt.

“Of course not, those two are evil. But it’s the only way to get them out of their room,” I smile down at Chase.

“What’s gonna happen today?”

“Well, you remember the funeral we had for flounder last year? We said a few nice words and said goodbye?”

“I am not flushing mom and dad down the potty.” It was a sweet, innocent moment that reminded me of all the growing up Chase still had to do. “No silly goose, dad was much too fat anyway. You are going to put on your cutest black suit mom got you for Aunt Shelia’s wedding last year. Then, we are gonna go to the church where all mom and dad’s friends are going to be waiting to say goodbye. Conner is going to sing some of mom and dad’s favorite songs, then I am gonna give a little speech. After all that just you, me, and the other 3 rascals, we will all go to the cemetery to say goodbye.”

“If we do go, will mommy and daddy hear our goodbyes?”

“Mom and dad will always hear you, buddy. They always listened to you when they were here, what makes you think it’ll be any different now?”

“Okay but if Aunt Shelia gets her lipstick all over me I am gonna flush myself down the potty.”

“Deal.” We shook on it. “Now let’s get you out of bed.” I tickled him, and he giggled and hopped out of bed.

Shit. it’s 9:45 by the time I open the pantry. I grab the cereal from the top shelf and a few bowls and put them on the dining room table. I open the fridge to find an empty milk jug, great. Instead of grabbing the milk, I grab the eggs. I put the cereal and bowls back in the pantry. I scramble the last of the eggs and make a mental note: laundry detergent, paper towels, milk, eggs.

“Stacy’s Mom” is playing in the background as the eggs are cooling. I put in the only pieces of bread left, the “butt pieces” as mom called them. Chase will throw a fit if he has to eat the butt slices, and we do not have time for a tantrum. Laundry detergent, paper towels, milk, eggs, bread. Once the bread is toasted, I throw in a few frozen waffles. Mom only let us have frozen waffles on Mondays, so there was plenty left.

I plate it all and grab the orange juice. Not two minutes after it is all on the table, I hear tiny footsteps followed by stomping on the stairs. Chase and Conner sit down. Shortly after, Chrisitan and Cameron come down.

“Why do me and Cam get the butt pieces and they get waffles?” Christian says as they sit down across the table.

“Because you guys are my favorites.” I wink at Chase who giggles. “Now shut up and eat. I am not a chef. You get what you get and…”

The room is silent. “You know the rest, I am waiting,” I say

“And you don’t have a fit.” The twins muttered in unison.

“Good now I want everyone dressed and ready after breakfast. And don’t forget to put your dishes in the dishwasher. Oh and Conner I need you to be done in the bathroom so I can finally shower.” “Yeah, you smell like booze.” I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or rebuking me. I debate making a snarky comment back, but I don’t. I can only imagine the amount of teenage angst and testosterone in a normal 17-year-old, let alone on the day of his parents' funeral.

After I finished my frozen waffle I went upstairs to brush my teeth. I hear Chase come up the stairs, and I go to his room to help him get dressed.

“Well don’t you look dapper,” I said as I turned him to the mirror.

“I am not wearing this,” he unclipped his tie and threw his jacket on the floor.

“No, no, you look like batman. Isn’t it awesome?” He started to cry. I tried to comfort him with a hug, but the screams got louder.

“Okay fine. What do you want to wear?” He ripped all his clothes off and sat on the floor in his puppy dog boxers.

“I can’t be Batman… Batman has no family,” he tried to speak through the tears. I felt his body shake as I tried to hold him. “Batman’s parents are dead…” his voice trailed off and he stopped resisting the embrace.

“It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” I kept repeating. I felt the tears streaming down my own face. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” This time I was repeating it for myself more than I was for Chase.

That’s when the screaming down the hall caught my attention. “Okay Chase, it’s your day, you wear whatever you want. I have to check on evil one and evil two. Meet me downstairs when your clock says one one three zero okay?” He smiled and ran to his closet.

I stomp into the twins’ room, “what is going on in here?”

“That’s my white button-up, his has the one with the hole in the armpit!” Cameron was screaming at Christian.

“But it was your fault so it’s your’s now!” Christian was screaming back

“Guys it does not matter, no one’s gonna see it. Christian, you wear the one with the hole. You sweat like a gorilla anyway, it’ll give you air circulation. Now both of you get dressed and be downstairs ready to leave at 11:30.”

I check my phone, it's 10:30; I have time to check on the last monkey and still get in the shower. I might even have time to throw on some mascara.

I knock on Conner’s door. “How’s it going in here?”

“Fine.” I open the door and see Conner with his nose in his phone. Despite being dressed in his nice suit, he looks like a homeless man. His features are so much darker than before like he aged 10 years in the past week.

“Totally not fine. Is this how we leave the house now? You look like you have been on a three-day bender your hair—”

He cuts me off, “yeah, well Cal, you smell like it.”

“Okay yes, do I spend time at the bar when the little ones are in bed? Yes. Am I still here in the morning to wake them up and do everything mom and dad would have done? Yes. You need to chill the fuck out. I am grieving the loss of my parents too. I am also grieving the loss of my senior year, my graduation, my degree, and all to be a 22-year-old mother to you guys.”

“We don’t need you to be our mother. We had one, an amazing one. You aren’t her, just go back to school or the bar or whatever,” he snapped. I could see the tears fighting their way forward.

“Conner. I am not trying to replace them. I will never ever live up to the standard they set, not even to my own kids someday. You are hurting, but everyone left in this house is hurting. It is bigger than you or me. So here’s what is gonna happen: you are going to help get everyone in the car by 11:40, and we are going to get to the church on time. You are going to sing mom and dad’s wedding song and make everyone in that damn church cry because your voice is so goddamn beautiful and we are going to come back home and piece together ourselves and our family.” He looked at me and nodded. “Don’t forget to brush your hair,” I added as I left.

I finally made it to the bathroom. I lock the door behind me and stare at myself in the mirror. Holy shit. Okay, so maybe Conner’s comments were warranted. Mascara was running down my cheeks, over the dark circles under my bloodshot hazel eyes. My hair falling out of a three-day-old ponytail. Is this what I look like now? I turn on the shower water, praying that a little water and soap will fix all my problems, but not many of my prayers have been answered recently.

I strip down and hop in the shower. The warm water washes me and my thoughts clean. It’s funeral day. The eulogy. Fuck. I never wrote it. I went to the bar last night to write it and it never got done. Now, what am I supposed to do, disappoint my parents once again?

My knees can no longer support the weight of my body, I crumble onto the floor of the shower. All the things they gave me and I can’t manage a stupid little eulogy. Not only them but I am supposed to stand in front of those boys who are hurting so badly and try to make everything better, when I can’t even write a simple paragraph about how much I loved my parents.

I feel my lungs shrinking, my head throbbing, and my body trembling. I watch as pieces of what was once my life rain down over me. I drop my head. I can carry this weight no longer. I want to let go. Let the water take over my breathing, my thoughts, and my movement. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. KNOCK, KNOCK.

“Yo, Callie! I need my hairbrush,” I hear Conner say through the door.

“I’ll be right out!” I scream back.

I gather myself; I use the last of the hot water to wash my body, then force myself to step back into the real world. The world where I have to go to my parent’s funeral, share a eulogy I haven’t written yet, and hug four boys who also lost their parents.

I look at the time: 11:35. Fuck me. I give up. I move to my room and put on my least slutty black dress, braid my hair, and throw on a little bit of makeup. I hear the boys downstairs screaming at me for making us late, but they can wait. I finally strap on my heels and look at myself one more time in the mirror, “this is for them.” I remind myself.

I come downstairs at 12:05 to see Chase in his Spiderman onesie, Christian and Cameron laughing at the now much larger hole in Christian’s shirt, and Conner trying to herd everyone into the car like cattle. I burst into laughter. A genuine type of laugh, one that catches you so off guard you would be embarrassed if you could stop laughing.

“Come on fuckers, let’s go,” I say still laughing.

“Callie! Language!” Chase looks up at me smiling. I grab his hand as we walk out the door following the other three boys.