Chapter 1

I stand in the shower and let the warm water rain down on me. Scrubbing the soap into my hair, I can’t help but wonder how long I’ve spent in here already. Probably too long.

I move my hands down to my belly and stroke the scar that travels across my ribs and ends just short of my belly button. It’s mixed in with a few other imperfections, but it’s the most noticeable. Mostly it serves as a horrible reminder of the past.

I lean my head against the shower wall and listen to the house. I can hear my mom in the kitchen making breakfast. She takes the four thin porcelain plates out of the cupboard and sets them on the counter. Then she takes out the forks and one of the spoons and sets them on top of the plates.

I can’t hear her take the coffee pot out of the maker, but I know she does. I also know that she’s pouring the dark liquid into the heavy white mug, and now she’s sprinkling a spoonful of sugar into it. I can almost hear her spoon hit the side of the mug as she stirs, and then drop the spoon in the sink.

Then I hear my little sister cough and my mom’s rushed footsteps travel across the house.

These are the sounds of morning.

I suddenly feel some urgency about today and realize that I need to hurry. I quickly rinse the soap from my hair and turn off the water. I make quick work of wringing out my hair and drying and dressing myself. I manage to be out of the bathroom before the mirrors have time to un-fog.

When I open the door of the bathroom I’m greeted by my mom as she leads the scrawny, pale thing that is my sister Abby, through the dining room.

“Morning, Jameson.”  my mom breathes with a smile.

“Morning.”

I take a deep breath and try to guess all the smells. Something smells rich and buttery and sweet like pancakes and maple syrup. There’s the bitter smell of coffee and something else. Something greasy and delicious. I know this smell, I just can’t place it. It reminds me of a time before the War, when everything was simple. It smells like bacon. Bacon? Bacon isn’t in our rations. It never is. It can’t possibly be bacon. It’s probably just pork sausage.

I walk into the kitchen and see my older sister Amy sitting at the island counter smiling at me. My mom and Abby are taking their seats at the counter leaving me a stool next to Amy. They’re all smiling at me now. I haven’t the slightest idea why so I just smile back and take my seat.

Amy moves her wavy blond hair away from her face and looks at me expectantly. “Well?”

“Well what?” I ask and look around at them.

“She forgot,” Abby giggles. What is today? Thursday. It’s Thursday, March 27th. What did I forget? And then it occurs to me.

“Oh!” It’s my birthday. That’s why there’s bacon and syrup.

Amy looks at me. “How could you forget your own birthday?”

“I wasn’t paying much attention,” I say as I pile the fried pork on my plate.

My mom puts two pancakes and syrup on Abby’s plate. “It’s also check up day for us today.”

Some of the morning excitement dies with my moms words.

We finish the rest of the meal in silence. I think about previous check up days. Each visit is nearly always the same. We all check in at the hospital and we wait . Eventually someone calls out our name and we go in one at a time. I’m always last because we’re called alphabetically. Even though my mom’s name is Kathleen, she goes in before me so that she can go with Abby. Once my name is called, I’m led through a door, down a hall, and into a big white room with a bed along the right wall. The very first time I went by myself I was so scared that I started crying and my mom had to come get me. After that Amy walked with me.

Check up day is mandatory for everyone. Nobody necessarily likes it but we all tolerate it. It is, after all, for the greater good. It’s meant to keep everyone healthy, both mentally and physically.

Everyone has their own reasons for not liking check up day. Mother doesn't like it because she’s a nurse and every day is hectic enough for her already without becoming a patient herself. Working every day in the hospital is hard enough without wondering what they’re doing to your child. Especially considering Abby’s breathing condition. Being poked, prodded, and inspected from head to toe isn’t exactly what I would call fun.

Once we’re all finished with our breakfast my mom ushers Abby out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Amy and I are left to the dishes.

I pick up the plates one at a time and scrape whatever is left over into a metal bowl on the floor for the our dog, Finley. Amy is standing by the sink waiting for me.

“Are you excited?” she asks me as she gently places the plates in the sink.

“About what?”

She looks at me in disbelief. “You’re sixteen today. Isn’t that enough to be excited about?” She hands me a plate. I rinse it off and set it in the dry rack.

“I guess. There’s not a whole lot of difference between fifteen and sixteen.”

“That’s not the point, Jamie. You’re officially another year older. In two more years you can choose your career and become an apprentice.”

I shrug and rinse off another plate.

“Whatever, I was excited when I turned sixteen.” She turns to me and smiles. “But you’re obviously not me.”

    Amy turns back to the sink and wipes down mom's mug with a sudsy wet rag. She hands it to me and I rinse it under the water and set it with the rest of the dishes.

    "Are you girls about done in there?" my mom calls from the dining room.

    "Just about," Amy answers. She dries her hands on her skirt and walks into the dining room.

    Abby comes bounding into the kitchen with a single blonde braid trailing down her back. "Mommy says I have to help dry." She pulls a stained hanky out of her pocket and coughs into it.

    "Are you alright?" I ask.

    She pulls the hanky away from her mouth and stares at it for a moment. "Yes."

    I hate hearing her cough.

    She sticks the hanky back in her pocket and gets a clean kitchen towel from the drawer. I pull a step stool around to the counter for her. Even though she's tall for an 8 year old, she's still can't reach the counter very well. Abby dries a plate, hands it to me, and I put it away. We do the same for the rest of the dishware. I can hear mom and Amy talking. I can't hear exactly what they're saying over the sound of the clattering porcelain, but from the sound of her murmurs mom sounds like she's getting annoyed.

    When Abby and I finish the dishes we stand in silence. I can hear them now. They're  talking about the bacon.

"It was a gift from the hospital." Mother says.

"They've been giving you all an awful lot of gifts lately."

Mothers voice start to get stern. "They just wanted to show that they appreciate us."

"Alright. But they've never-" but mom interrupts her.

"No more questions, Amelia. Now go get your sister."

    Amy walks out to the kitchen and tells me that mom is ready for me.

    When I come out my mom is standing behind a table chair that's positioned in front of a mirror. It looks almost like a salon. "Are you ready?" she asks me.

   I nod slowly but don't go to her. Not yet. She spins the chair around and blocks the mirror with her bold frame. I sigh and take a seat.

    "What were you thinking?" she asks.

    "Maybe just down. They'll make me take it down anyway," I reply. She gently runs a comb through my dark hair. It bumps along the scars lining my scalp.

    "Nonsense," she argues. "It's your birthday. You should look nice today." I can feel her separate my dark hair into tiny pieces and her nimble finger twist around and position the strands just where she wants them to be. Occasionally she runs her finger across a rather bumpy piece of flesh on my face. Sometimes she shudders a little bit, but for the most part she tries not to. When she finishes she moves in front of me to move the last stray strands out of the way.

    She sighs loudly. Her breath smells like coffee and there are little blonde strands peeking out from her ponytail. "You look beautiful. I wish you could see yourself."

 

    Just like every morning.

   

Reviews

[Wickers]

This was very interesting. I usually have a lot of patience when reading new work, but I find myself eager to read more. Yes, while it's true there isn't necessarily a lot if action, I did pick up in the "apprenticeship" and "war," and I find myself very curious. I can't wait to read more. Great job!