Wrong Side Of The Bed

Wrong Side Of The Bed

“Jeremy wake up,” my mother said. Her voice penetrating through my subconscious. Dreams of Ferraris, million dollar mansions, and Kiera Knightley dissipate. I roll lazily from bed and into my daily routine of showering, brushing teeth, and clothing myself. This accomplished, my body drifts toward the smell of eggs and bacon. I navigate the hallway. I avoid my baby brother’s toys as if they were landmines strategically placed to ruin my day. As I turn into the kitchen, a sudden burst of pain blasts its way through my leg. I maintain balance by grabbing the countertop while hopping on one leg.

“Why don’t you make Caleb pick up his toys?” I shout, eyeing my toe for broken bones.

“Aw, did somebody wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” My mom asked smiling.

“Maybe I should go lay back down, wake up again, and roll off the other side of the bed. Better yet, I think I’ll just stay in bed. Yes, that’s it; I am going to pull the covers over my head and place hours of serious contemplation into exactly which side of the bed I should get out on. After doing that, I will be so mentally exhausted; I will probably take a nap. Once I wake up from that nap, I will have to remember which side of the bed I had finally decided was the right side before I dare step onto the carpet. You might as well call a psychiatrist now, because by the time I figure everything out I will be completely insane!” From the look portrayed on my mother’s face, it was evident she thought me to be insane now. Forgetting the eggs and sausage, I grabbed my shoes and hobbled out the house.

On the fifteen minute commute to school I blasted a Metallica cd to calm my nerves. After flicking out a cigarette I was too young to smoke, I parked my blue Honda civic in the senior parking lot. I grabbed my backpack, slung it on my shoulder, and headed to first hour.

Physics was a breeze. My next three classes, English, Art, and P.E., flew by without a hitch. After eating lunch, I strolled over to Calculus. The day was almost over and the minor setback this morning forgotten. My smile faded as I entered the classroom and glimpsed the blackboard. The words, test today, were written in twelve inch letters across the board. I staggered to my desk suddenly feeling ill. In my despair I barely heard a voice come over the intercom.

“Jeremy Tyler please report to Principal Sadys office.” The voice of the school secretary, Miss Grogan, never before sounded so smooth and lovely. Smiling once again, I grabbed my book sack and danced to the door. Talk about perfect timing. Never one to delay the inevitable, I swiftly made my way to the office. Being a three sport athlete, Mr. Sady regularly called me into his office to chat. We would sip coffee and talk football or baseball or any subject he wished. Crossing the student commons, I paused at a water fountain for a drink. I pushed the button, nothing. After pushing the button repeatedly without the desired result, I kicked it. I screamed out in pain remembering a second too late about my injured toe. I stalked off to find the janitor.

The office could wait. Being a member of the student council I had a civic duty to handle this matter immediately. I was on a mission. Methodically I marched from hallway to hallway, restroom to restroom. After three minutes of searching, I caught a glimpse of the janitor exiting the staff restrooms.

“Excuse me,” I said. “The water fountain in the student commons is not working. Could you fix it?”

Rolling his eyes, he gave me a halfhearted salute and said,” Yes sir. Will get to it right away, sir.” Mister sarcasm then walked away in the opposite direction of the fountain.

“I’m sorry for asking you to do your job,” I shouted angrily.

“Sounds like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” he replied over his shoulder.

I stared holes through his back until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. I counted to ten, while inhaling and exhaling deeply, waiting for the rage building up inside me to subside. Remembering I was needed at the office, I jogged down senior hall, through freshman hall, and into the administration building. In the few seconds this took, I plotted my revenge on the lazy janitor. Mr. Sady would get an earful about this worthless excuse for an employee. I stopped momentarily at the office door, composing myself before I entered.

I pushed the door open halfway. The grandmotherly secretary smiled and waved me in. Turning toward Mr. Sadys office, I glimpsed two uniformed police officers standing at his door. I froze. Reacting without thinking, I jumped back into the hallway. The door closed inches from my face. Why are the police here for me? What have I done wrong? These thoughts battered my brain like Mike Tyson punches. Nauseousness swept over me. I placed my hands against my chest to keep my furiously beating heart from bursting out and splattering on the tile floor. This thought nearly sent me into shock after noticing our immaculate white floors were more tan today. Damn janitor. A few more seconds spent assessing my impending incarceration would have killed me. Luckily, the boys in blue ran out the door, into the hallway, and crashed into me. This move on their part left us sprawled out on the tile. Pieces of dirt stuck to my right cheek. I choked back the bile entering my mouth. Cold steel circled my wrist. The handcuffs clicked twice then locked. I attempted to raise my head to speak but was immediately slammed face down on the bacteria infested floor. I clamped my jaws shut bravely fighting the battle between my ego and my stomach. My ego lost. A half digested mixture of chili dogs, corn, and milk propelled itself from my mouth to the floor.

“You are under arrest for bringing drugs on school property,” one officer said. The other laughed, commenting on my inability to hold down my food.

“Jeremy?” Mr. Sady said. “Jeremy Tyler is that you? Officers this is not the guy you are here for. This is Jeremy, one of our most prolific student-athletes.”

Mumbling under their breath they unlocked the handcuffs, releasing me. I stood up tentatively, not trusting my trembling legs to hold me.

“Sorry about the mix-up buddy,” one officer said.

“Sorry,” I shouted. “You run me into the ground, handcuff me, and crack jokes when I puke on myself and all you have to say is sorry!” Attempting to salvage what little pride I have left, I wipe chunks of vomit off my face with my shirtsleeve and walk away.

“He must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” These words from the officer float down the hallway and smack me in the back of the head. Bastards.

“Will Mr. Johnson please come to the admin building,” Miss Grogan said over the intercom. “And please bring a mop.” I smile. Turning the corner I come face to face with our esteemed janitor.

“Clean up on isle three.” The words roll off my tongue and before I know it, I am doubled over on the sidewalk laughing. Tears are rolling down my cheeks by the time I reach my car. I key the ignition, pull out the parking lot, and head home. I damn sure should have stayed in bed today.