Reading, Roaring, and Reminiscing

“Two days ago, the rain was pouring from the clouds,” I grumbled to my dog, Max. Of course, he couldn’t understand me, but that miniscule fact didn’t stop my rant, “Two stinking days ago, it was warm and humid and wet. But no, now it’s all cold and snowy. Seriously, where else in the contiguous US could you find it snowing in freaking April?! Exactly! Only in Minnesota! Two days ago, thunder and lightning were present and the ground was damp; what happened?!”

I couldn’t stop myself from staring out the window; my green speckled hazel eyes watching the frozen, white crystals fall from the sky, gracefully landing on the ground. The thought of it was a slight downer. By the time April comes around, it’s supposed to be rainy, not snowy.

Eventually, I pulled myself away from the window and off of the soft, black
couch. The dog looked up at me as if he was scrutinizing my movements…or he was trying to figure out how stupid I really was; either way. I sighed as I made my way into the kitchen to stir some hot chocolate together in a vain attempt to keep myself warm in the mildly cold, northern Minnesota.

Max followed me across the wooden floor, into the kitchen.
"Where is my cup, Max? Hmm?"

Again, the only look that he gave me was one of blissful unawareness. I couldn't help but let out a short, hard laugh at his priceless expression when I pulled the mug out of my cupboard. Grabbing all of the ingredients needed, I poured some milk into the cup and shoved it into the microwave, pushing the door shut and entering the correct amount of time.

I ran to my room in the mean time to turn some music on. Finding the shiny iPod sitting on my white desk, I grabbed the metal object, feeling the coolness against my warm palm, and quickly scanned through the music until I landed on I Am Ghost: Dark Carnival Of The Immaculate.

"CHARLOTTE ANN!" my mom screamed from somewhere in the house.

Knowing that I couldn't really escape her, I just turned the music loud enough so I could still hear it when I was finishing the cocoa- later- in the kitchen.

"What, mom?" I had tried, desperately, to keep the irritation out of my voice.

"What, mom?" she repeated in an annoyingly accurate voice, yet adding a condescending tone to it. "What, mom!? You're really going to ask that?! Look at this kitchen! There's milk and hot chocolate all over the place!"

"I just ran to my room for two seconds to turn music on," I replied. Big oops. Note to self: don't ever say anything that could even minutely construed as back talk.

"I'm sorry- what?" she asked me rhetorically. And then she was calm. That's how I knew that I had done something bad, "You know what? Just, clean it up, okay? Now."

I still wasn't sure what I had done that was so horrendous that she could yell at me this much and this loud for something so…so…little. But I did what she asked, none the less, and cleaned the kitchen- which took me all of one minute.

By the time the yelling spat was over, my cocoa was also done. After removing the steaming milk from the microwave, I dumped the chocolate powder in there, being sure to stir it very well, before shoving the lid on tight and leave the kitchen.

I noticed that Max was now curled up against my mother's leg, resting his chin contently on her knee. Upon seeing this, I couldn't stop the urge I had to narrow my eyes.

Traitor.

Walking the rest of the way to my room, I was about to close my door when my mom called out to me, "Charlotte? Can I talk to you for a second?"

I rolled my eyes when my back was to her before setting my cocoa on my dresser, plastering a smile across my face and turning around and walking back in her direction, "Sure."

As soon as I was in eyeshot of her hands, I noticed that she was holding a picture of my father whom had passed several years ago.

"I um," she started. "I, well, I found this in some stuff downstairs last night and I was wondering if you wanted it. I know that you and your father got along very well- better than we do- and I was thinking that maybe you'd want to keep it."

I had to choke back the lump that was clogging my throat, "Yeah, I would. Thanks, mom. A lot."

And with that, I gave her a watery, tear-filled smile, stole the photo from her grasp, and tore down the hallway and stormed into my room. I tossed the photograph, face up, onto my desk and hopped onto my bed, trying to ignore the last picture taken of my father- ever.

A knock on the door echoed throughout the house, and since my mom was at work, I had to go see who was at the door.

My heart stopped and my blood ran cold as soon as I saw a tall man, dressed in an army uniform through the glass cut out in our front door. When I yanked the heavy object out from between the two of us, I noticed that his face had regret and sympathy written all over it.

I didn't need to know what he was going to tell me, I already knew, but he went ahead anyway, "I'm looking for the family of Sgt Mickelson."

"I'm his daughter," I spoke softly, for fear of my voice refusing to work if I spoke too loudly.

"I'm sorry to inform you that your father…" and that was all I heard.

It was as if my ears were filled with water when the man was telling me about my father. Where he died, how he died, how much of an asset he was to his troop, and so on and so forth. Never once did I heard him mention how sad he- personally- was that my father had passed on. It was generic- the way life often is.

I didn't really want to reminisce at all about my father. I would've settled for anything other than that. Quickly fanning through my books, I found one of my favorites- The Catcher In The Rye- and snatched it off the shelf.

After diving into the covers of my bed and resting my head against the black pillow that I had sewn together only days earlier, I opened the book to page one and began reading about Holden Caulfield.

As soon as I was about to turn the paper to read page three, I caught sight of the dense snow outside my window…and then eyed my hot chocolate sitting only several feet away from me.