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I was awoken abruptly by the shrill sound of an alarm. It was all too familiar, and despite having heard it every morning for the past month, I had not yet become accustomed to it. Our beds did lay side by side, no more than a wall dividing us, and Steve always had a habit of setting his alarm too loud. I rolled out of bed, groggy, and trudged to my vanity mirror. Only getting four hours of sleep, the bags under my eyes appeared to be nearly auburn. My hair seemed a little more dull than usual, and my skin paler than most days.
I threw on a clean outfit, no more than simple dark jeans and a cream colored turtleneck. My hair was a natural smooth wave, and I pinned one side of it back with a clip.
The delightful smell of pancakes wafted from the floor below, drawing me to the kitchen. I caught my dad flipping the tasty pungent breakfast food. It was unheard of to see my father cooking breakfast for us, given he was always working, and if he wasn't, he was sleeping and getting ready for his night shift. I took the wonderful opportunity and sat at the table, with plenty of minutes left to spare. He tilted his head to catch a quick glance of me, before shifting his hand and flipping the pancake once more.
"Morning, sweetheart," He called out, as he placed some pancakes on a dirtied plate.
"Morning, dad," He placed the food in front of me, "thank you."
"Welcome. Eat up, and get your brother down here," He smiled and clasped his hands together.
I nodded and rose from my seat. I hurried up the stairs and towards my brother's room, knocking softly before entering.
"Steve?" I asked as the door creaked open and I poked my head inside. He was posed in front of his mirror, slicking his hair back with a wide tooth comb.
"What do you want?" He furrowed his eyebrows, not taking his attention off of his reflection.
"Dad's made breakfast, don't be an ass and come down," I almost shut the door before I poked my head through once more, "Oh, and happy birthday. Hope you have a wonderful first day at school."
I heard a groan as I shut the door. Snickering under my breath, I returned to the breakfast table. I sat down and poured the syrup, watching as it's glossy consistency trickled evenly over the edges.
"Keep that up and you'll have a heart attack by fifty," He spoke facetiously. I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling.
Although there was some sort of a deep-rooted rancor in our family, occasionally we exchanged jokes and laughter. Times like that were rare, speaking to my father, him not being so strict and bitter. They were times I cherished. Most hours my father worked were during the evening and night, coming home late hours while Steve and I were still asleep. He worked when we were home, and stayed home while we were at school. I could see visibly the toll his laborious job took on him, how he looked emotionally drained the mornings after–that is if I saw him at all.
