In the Book of Me and You

Don’t get me wrong, there is something ethereal and majestic about the pink light filtering through my blinds and diffusing the room into soft, warm, light. However, I would be able to find it a lot more magical if the light could have fucked off for another two hours rather than shining in my eyes and thwarting even my strongest attempts to get a satisfactory amount of sleep. I didn’t dare give the sun a death glare for the sake of my eyes, but there was nothing stopping me from adding blackout curtains to my mental shopping list and cursing the star in the most colorful language I could come up with at 6:30 am.

There was no sense in relocating to sleep longer at this point so I kicked the covers off with far more gusto than was really warranted and trudged to the bathroom. I stared at the image in the bathroom mirror and grinned at the lion’s mane like mess my hair had become overnight, unable to take myself seriously and be put out by my hair’s lack of cooperation. Finally more awake and less pissed off, I stepped into the shower, turning the heat up and enjoying a good clean that was much needed after a plane ride next to a severely overweight mother and her baby as well as a fourteen year old boy who didn’t understand personal hygiene.

In no time flat, aka a half an hour, I was dressed; ready with my hair braided for convenience, and was standing in the kitchen waiting for Aunt Amy to gather the shopping lists we’d need and to give me the go ahead to get in the car. She was all aflutter, it reminded me of yesterday, and I made a mental note that this might just be normal behavior for her, not something to do with my arrival. It took another half an hour to get everything that she needed for us both to get all our errands sorted out with minimal confusion. This entailed three lists detailing my needs and two lists of hers that were then unceremoniously shoved into her purse without so much as a fold.

One Schwinn bike, a veritable plethora of school supplies, and some summer clothes later, my aunt and I were walking exhaustedly into Barnes and Nobles for the last of my needed supplies and hers as well. We split up, her towards cookbooks and me towards the school required literature that I’d be reading that year. I perused the list, taking in the author list and grabbing books quickly as I located them with no real interest and threw them into my basket. Milton, Shakespeare, Bronte, Shakespeare, Wilde, Shakespeare, and holy hell, was this a Shakespeare class or an English class. I got it, Shakespeare was great with language, but it was old, sometimes dry, and honestly, I didn’t give a shit about it. With a huff I tipped the last of my small collection of Shakespeare into my basket and made my way to the café where I was meant to meet Aunt Amy. Rather than sitting at a table though, I found her chatting animatedly with a long haired barista and I just approached slowly.

“May I help you, m’am,” he asked dutifully when I got close enough and I was both glad he still realized he had a job to do but also kind of upset that he’d noticed me and drawn my aunt’s attention my way.

“Oh, Matt, this is my niece that I’ve been telling you about. Andrea, this is Matthew Traynor, he lives the street over. His mother and I have been friends for seven years now,” my aunt said and I nodded, relieved that Matt hadn’t been here when I was before. It was enough to put me in relaxation mode so that my aunt could gab with Matt more and I could just sit and ponder if my English teacher had a Shakespeare obsession. However when a half hour had passed I became impatiently and cleared my throat slightly, breaking from their conversation about something that I hadn’t really been paying attention to and when had I become such a brat.

“Aunt Amy, we’ve got to be at the airport at six and we’ve got to take the stuff home and unpack it,” I said, frowning at myself while my conscience berated me for being rude to the woman housing and feeding me.

“Oh, Andrea, six tonight? I have to be at your school for a parent’s meeting then… I can’t really miss, I wonder if I should call Gregg” –my uncle- “and ask him to come home from work early.” I felt even worse now because as selfish as it was I was more than a little upset that my plans could fall through after so much work being put towards them.

“Amy, I can take her if you want. It’d really be no problem.” As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I gained a lot of respect for Matt in that second. Sure I raised my brow at his use of my Aunt’s first name, but he also was doing my family a favor and was helping me out. The solution was good for everyone so my Aunt thanked him a million times while I tried to get her out the door so I would be able to unpack all the shopping bags before Matt came to pick me up at 5:35.