t h a t . j a n u a r y . d a y

Chapter One : Early Mornings

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Chapter One.

Early Mornings, January 2005.

...

         The chill of the morning bit at my exposed skin.  I shivered and pulled my hood tightly down over my head.  It was just a couple of months ago that I was cursing the heat, and now I couldn't help begging for it to return.  My feet crunched on the icy ground as I quickly jogged out to my car and jumped in it.  As I turned the key, the car fought with starting up at first but eventually caved and gave a roar as it came to life.  I turned the heat on high and then jumped out, returning to the house even quicker than I had left it. 

         I hung my coat up on the rack next to the door and walked into the kitchen.  Dad was standing in front of the oven, reading something with his back to me.  His thin hair was messy although it was still somewhat brushed back from the previous days hairspray.  Just the overhead light above the oven was on, and his tall figure shadowed the rest of the kitchen.  He let out a smokers cough when I sat on the kitchen stool but his focus didn't leave the newspaper.

         These early mornings killed me.  I was working at call center in Broken Arrow, and the drives from my house took nearly forty minutes.  So being up around the same time as my father was normal on these mornings.  My father had just woke up and was waiting on his coffee, keeping his mind busy with the newspaper.  He turned around and gave me a nod.

         "Good morning."  A very dry and tired voice.  He let out another strained cough.  His cough was so unique that when walking in a large store, you could find him just by following the sound of his cough. 

         My response was no better.  "Morning."  We sat there in silence for a minute before he decided to break the silence.

         "How's work going?"  His eyes were still on the newspaper that I could now see.  He was reading the sports section.

         "Eh, alright.  Sucks on mornings like these.  I'm not quite used to having to get up this early."  I paused for a second as he gave a grunt of agreement.  "This is when I'm usually going to bed."

         Dad gave a light chuckle and turned back to the coffee machine.  The smell filled the kitchen and reminded me of those early mornings I used to spend with him before school so long ago.  I watched him pour the coffee and turn around back towards me.  He raised it slowly to his lips and blew on it before taking a sip.  It was then I noticed he didn't take the coffee to his bedroom to get ready for school. 

         "Oh it's Sunday..."  I thought aloud. 

         "Yup."  He took another drink and looked at me.

         "I'm sorry, I was just thinking aloud.  Could not figure out why you were not getting ready for school."  My parents usually took full advantage of Saturday and Sunday to sleep in since they both worked at the school during the week.  I looked up at him, confused.  "You're up early then."

         "Yeah, I could not sleep."  His focus was back on the newspaper.

         "Hmm."  I thought about asking why, but Dad was not much to talk about his own personal problems, so I decided to just leave it alone.  I had to leave for work if I was going to make it on time anyway.  "Alright, well, love you."  I scooted off the stool and started to walk out of the kitchen. 

         "Drive safe."  His voice echoed from the kitchen.  I heard the newspaper rustle as he folded it, and then I closed the front door behind me.  No "I love you" in response.  Just "drive safe." 

         I hustled out to my car and settled in.  It was not exactly warm in the car, but it was far better than it was earlier.  I put the car in reverse and looked up at the house.  Dad must have followed me outside, and was standing next to the front door in the cover from the biting wind.  He was holding a cigarette in one hand and his coffee in the other.  My mind jumped back instantly to those old days in kindergarten when I used to get up with him every morning...

...

My eyes opened quickly and I listened to the footsteps walking across the kitchen.  I sat up; looking at the light from the kitchen through the open door till my father’s shadow appeared. 

“You up?”

I yawned and nodded.

“Good, I could use the company this morning.”

He walked away and I fumbled around attempting to get ready without waking my brother.  It wasn’t hard.  I had enough light from the kitchen to show me where toys were and where my clothes were.  Not to mention that my brother was the complete opposite of me.  I was the light sleeper; he was the heavy sleeper.  You could yell in his face and slap him a couple of times before even getting a mumble from him.

I stumbled in the kitchen, still half asleep.  He had already placed the cereal and milk on the table and was busying himself with his coffee and newspaper.  There was a lit cigarette in his mouth and he squeezed his lips together and took another puff without letting go of the paper.  I watched the end of the cancer stick glow as he sucked in and then the smoke came gracefully out of his mouth.  I loved watching the smoke.  Dad was wearing the exact same robe and house shoes that he always wore. 

Our kitchen was quite small.  At the time, we were living in a small trailer home, only two bedrooms and two baths.  Walking into the kitchen from my bedroom, the kitchen table was on the far left in a small dining area.  The kitchen table stuck out far enough that you had to walk around the table in order to get to the other side of the house.  As I walked around the table, I noticed Dad had put my favorite cereal on the table this morning : Fruity Pebbles.

I sat at the kitchen table and watched him as I downed my first bowl of cereal.  Every morning it was the same routine.  He was the first in the house to get up and he started the coffee in just his robe.  He would either smoke a cigarette in front of the oven stove or outside, depending on the weather.  And then he would pull out the newspaper and read a bit before he started getting ready.  The dim yellow light above the oven was the only light and provided more shadows then light.  The kitchen smelled of coffee, as it always did on these mornings, and it helped me get around and wake up.  I crunched on my cereal and stared, working on my second bowl and wondering what it was that he was reading about.

This particular morning the smell of coffee was overwhelming and I decided to interrupt the daily pattern of our mornings.

"Dad?"

"Yes son?"  His newspaper still held out in front of him and a cigarette still hanging out his mouth, it was only his head that turned to look at me.

"Can I try your coffee?"

He studied me for a second before answering.  "It's very bitter and I don't think you'll like it, but if you want to, of course you can."

I dropped the spoon into the bowl of cereal and stood up.  I moved to my fathers side and watched as he poured the black liquid into a new coffee cup for me.  I watched as the creamer and milk sank and slowly turned the blackness to a cool caramel.  Dad then added a lot of sugar and stirred it all up.  It no longer smelled as good as it did before.  Dad blew and blew and blew on it to cool it down and then handed it to me. 

"Be careful it's still very hot."

I lifted the cup to my lips and before I could attempt to take a sip he interrupted me.

"Wait..."  He stepped around me and grabbed a couple ice cubes from the freezer and gently set them into the coffee.  "There you go, try it now."

I took one sip and instantly hated it.

“Good?” he asked.

I nodded and slowly began planning the course I was going to take in order to get rid of it without him seeing.  Since I asked for it, I knew that he would frown upon me wasting it. 

However, my father knew me better than I could have expected him to.  I imagine it was my face that sold me out.  Without a word he took it from me and sat it next to the sink.  “I don’t think coffee suits you.”

I smiled and went back to my cereal.  He knew what to say so that I didn't feel bad for wasting it.  He always knew what to do and what to say at the exact right time, except of course, when he was upset.  I watched him as he went back to reading his newspaper.

"Thanks Dad."

He returned a smile and went back to reading.

By the time that I finished my second bowl of cereal Dad had finished reading the newspaper and retreated to his bedroom to finish getting ready for school.  I ran off to get ready as well.  I was already dressed but I had to find my backpack and then put on my shoes.  I had just learned this year how to tie my shoes and did so now pretty well.  I dropped my backpack in the hallway and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.  Afterwards, I walked into the living room and waited on him. 

I found the couch in the near pitch darkness and sat down, kicking my feet over the side.  The front door was cracked open, meaning that he had already gone outside to start the truck. 

Within a couple of minutes my father came out and closed the door to the bedroom silently behind him.  He looked sharp, as always.  He was a math teacher at the local high school and always came out looking the same.  Either a button up shirt or polo, slacks, and dress shoes.  His hair was brushed back and stayed with a bit of hairspray.  The same look everyday. 

"You ready buddy?  Got your homework?"  He asked as he walked past me and patted my leg, walking into the kitchen to fill up a coffee cup to go.

"Yup!"  I said in excitement.  I was ready to go.  Patience is never fond in a child.  The bus barn was an exciting place for a child - so many places to explore and new people to talk to.

He put the top on his coffee cup and walked to the door, "Well lets do it then."  I jumped off the couch and beat him to door.  I ran out to the truck and jumped in, not waiting on him.  I put the backpack and instantly put my hands near the floorboard, trying to feel the heat coming out. 

"Is it warm yet?"  He had opened the door and was climbing in next to me. 

"Yeah."  I held my hands in front of the heater and didn't move.

After driving for a couple of minutes my hands finally started to warm up and I sat back in my seat.  My eyes darted to anything and everything.  This mornings station was 96.5, although it was usually 103.3.  Old classic rock stations.  I enjoyed most of the music.  I watched the cigarette in his mouth light up and then watched as he flicked it out the window.  We rounded the corner to the school and I kept my eyes on the bus barn that the headlights were now focused on.  Dad parked in his usual spot and we jumped out to find the shelter of the bus barn. 

The bus barn was an extremely old building built mostly of metal and painted an ugly pale yellow.  There was a small garage door on the left that was very rarely used and then a door to the right of it.  Two much bigger garage doors were on the right of the door that they used for the larger busses.  We only used the actual door in the cold mornings such as this one.  Usually the big garage door closest to the small door was open at all times.  The bus barn was only big enough for a circle of chairs, an office with an upstairs storage directly above it, and room enough for two busses in case they needed to be repaired or cleaned. 

As my eyes adjusted, the bus barn was just like it was every morning.  As soon as you walk in there were chairs aligned in a circle with the bus drivers occupying them.  They were drinking coffee and stopped the chatter for a minute to say 'hi' to the two of us.  The florescent lights from the very tall roof poured a very dull light on everything.  There was a small school bus parked next to the four or five chairs.  Everything was filthy, as if nothing had been dusted in years.  The bus barn held something very close to my heart, it was a kids dream to explore it. 

I sat down next to Dad and tried to act interested in what they were talking about.  My ears would perk up when I heard my fathers voice say something in response to the subject at hand, but I would eventually drown them out with my own curiosities of the bus barn.  A poster on the far wall behind the chairs caught my attention and I got up to inspect it.

My fathers attention was caught by me moving and he gave a warning that I could look but not touch.  Same rules I heard everyday.  As I approached the poster I realized that it was a bus that had been hit by a train. The train had hit the bus in the middle and had nearly torn it in half.  I stared at it for awhile and before I could even focus my eyes to the words underneath the photo, my father called out to me.

"Tyler.  Let's go."

Disappointed, I turned around and followed him and the rest of the bus drivers out.  It was still dark, and you could hear the engines getting louder as the drivers pushed the pedals down and directed the yellow giants out.  Even though the bus had been running for nearly half an hour, it was still cold.  I had it good though because Dad would let me sit up next to him so that I could feel the heater and warm up.  I would stay up there until a couple kids got on the bus and he would then usually tell me to sit down.

…

         It was a good memory.  Thinking of it put a smile on my face.  The attempt at drinking coffee and the poster of a train hitting a bus is what kept that memory separate from all the other mornings I rode the bus with Dad. 

         I was rounding the corner into my work and I parked the car in the back of the parking lot.  I sat there for a second and tried to soak up as much heat as possible before having to run into work. 

         I hate Sunday mornings.