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Charlie:

I woke up the next morning at about 9:30, which was pretty abnormal for me. I’ve never really been able to sleep in for too long. There are plenty of teenagers who can sleep well past eleven in the morning, my sister George for example. She can go to bed as early as eight o’clock and won’t wake up until at least 10:45, and that’s on a good day. Obviously, she’s a joy during the school year. I guess it’s a good thing, though, for her I mean. All those studies say that teenagers need more sleep than your average adult. As for me, I’m not as lucky as those people. I can stay up well past twelve o’clock and still wake up no later than eight. Which is why it was strange to wake up and see that the large, red numbers on my bedside alarm clock read “9:30”.

“Great.“ I thought to myself facetiously. I looked down towards the footboard of my bed and couldn’t help but notice that I had a typical case of morning wood. I got up to go use the bathroom, which resided at the end of the upstairs hallway of our suburban four bedroom house. On my way to relive myself, I glanced for a second into my mom’s bedroom. The bed was cleanly made, as it always is once she gets out of her bed in the morning. I sat there staring at her bed for a little while as I wondered how she is doing on her visit to go see her mother in Georgia. My mom tends to do this a lot. She goes out on some lavish vacation to some other state and leaves Brent, George, and I to fend for ourselves in our little house on Wauwatosa Avenue. We always tell her we’d like to go with her, but she always insists on bringing her boyfriend, Mark, with her. I know my mom knows we don’t care too much for Mark, which is why I think she always brings him with her.

When I had finally relieved myself, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My thick, dark brown hair was in a cowlick-y mess on the top my head, the whites of my blue grey eyes were bloodshot, and I had the creases of my bed sheets on my face.

“Damn, someone needs a shave.” said a playful voice.

“Thanks, George.” I replied. I glanced at her and then back at the mirror. I noticed what my sister was commenting on. I had allowed myself to grow quite a nice stubbly beard. My facial hair was oddly a few shades darker than the hair on my head, so it always sticks out when it makes an appearance.

George walks up to me and gives me a hug. I never really realize how tall I am until I’m standing next to someone shorter than me. George is by no means short, she’s about 5’9”, but she does not compare to my gigantic 6’3”. “How’s it going, Char? What do you want for breakfast?”

“Chocolate chip waffles would be chill.” I said, messing with her long, brown hair.

She pulls away. “I’ll get right on that.” She play slaps me, smiles, and then walks away. I hear her walk down the stairs and reach the hardwood floor at the base of them. She shouts, “It’s not that hard to drag a razor across your face.”

I laugh as I walk back down the hallway to my room to grab a towel for the shower I was about to take. This time when I made my way down the hallway to go back to the bathroom, yet again, my cat brushed up against my legs. I knelt down to pet Ketchup just as she took a very loud sneeze. “Bless you!” I said as I rubbed her head.

At last, I reached the bathroom, for the second time, and turned on the shower. I did my normal shower routine: Wash my hair, then wash my body, then wash my hair again. I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my towel around my bottom half. I wiped the condensation off of the mirror and revealed the face that was hidden behind it. My eyes were no longer blood shot, my hair was now wet and cleanly askew, rather than untamed, and the sheet marks were now erased from my stubbly cheeks. I studied my wet, half naked figure for a short while. To any random person, I probably looked like any other sixteen year old, maybe just slightly hairier. There are plenty of guys in my the sophomore class who haven’t a single hair on their chests. I, on the other hand, have had the hairiest body in general since middle school. I was always that “mustache kid” up until I started high school, then I blended in more, but middle school was hell for me being pubescent before anyone else. It almost seemed like I reached puberty the day I was retrieved from my mother’s womb. I’ve been shaving since fifth grade and have had a “man voice” since sixth grade. This a*****e Mitch Douglas thought it would be funny to start calling me ‘Darth Gayder’. The name has stuck since then.

When I was back in my bedroom, I swiftly got dressed for the day. I remembered the weatherman saying it was supposed to be about seventy-five degrees today so I dressed accordingly. I put on a pair of my homemade cutt-off jean shorts, a black pair, a purple V-neck t-shirt from H&M I bought a week ago, and a light blue hoodie. I did yet another once over in my bedroom mirror and then headed down the stairs to eat what George had made for breakfast. Just as I sat down at the kitchen table, George got up.

“I’m gonna go take a quick shower.” she said, explaining herself.

“I probably won’t be here when you come down.” I said back.

“Make sure you have your phone.” she said as she ascended the stairs.

I sat in silence and devoured the lukewarm, yet delicious, chocolate chip waffles I had asked her to make. I gulped down a glass of milk and then ran up to my room to retrieve my cell phone. I walked into the living room and began exiting through the front door just as I heard Brent, who had fallen asleep on the living room sofa, wake up.

“Where are you going, Chuck?” he said groggily.

“Crazy.” I replied and closed the behind me.

Author's Note

Woot, woot. Chapter Two.