Monday, February 10, 2014

Breakfast With Anabelle

Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day, when I get it.  I can’t have it when I’m tortured to get up by an alarm clock.  Makes my stomach acidic and all I can tolerate is toast.  But, I woke up when I wanted to this morning and I’m making French toast, eggs, bacon, and coffee.  If only I had some potatoes.  Anyway, I toss it all onto a plate when somebody knocks on the door.

Anabelle gazes at me with a raised eyebrow and curled lip.  She dyed her hair fire engine red since I last saw her.  “Perfect timin’.  Want some breakfast?  Just made up some French toast and eggs.” I said. 

“Didja just get up?  No thanks.  I ate a while ago.” She sneers back.  Whatever her problem is can wait.  I have good cooking.  I took my seat and started chowing down.  Anabelle just stands at the other end of the table, arms crosses, giving me a dirty look.  “Ya look horrible.  What’s wrong with ya?  Yer so gross.”

“I’m fine, sunshine.  Did I ferget somethin’ or do somethin’ ta piss ya off?” I reply still loading up on food.  “If so, I’m sorry.”

“No…” Now she brings out her “caring voice” when she asks, “Are ya gonna be like this ferever?”  Ugh.  Does she not see this beautiful meal in front of me on a rare day off?  It’s about as close to Nirvana I’ve been in a while.

“Be like what?”

“Like this.  What’s wrong with ya?  Ya never come out with us anymore or do anythin’ I want ta.  ‘Nd yer gettin’ boring.”  I look down at my plate, bite my upper lip, and take a deep breath so I don’t say anything I’ll regret later.  She never forgets.

“Well, maybe I’ve changed or I’m not who ya thought I was,” my chest grows warm and tight.

“Bullshit.  When was da last time ya took a shower or changed yer clothes or combed yer hair?”

“Who cares?  It’s my day off ‘nd I’m not goin’ anywhere.  I got no one ta impress.”  Why does she always have to start fights with me on nice days?  Anyway, she storms out the front door and I continue eating.  I’m not going to let whatever her problem is ruin my day.

“Aren’t ya gonna talk ta me?”  I didn’t know she was still here.  I finished up my meal, threw the dishes in the sink, and made a screwdriver.  Better make another one.

“Thought ya left ten minutes ago.” I hand her a drink she obviously doesn’t want.  “Have ya just been sittin’ on da stoop?”

“I’m tired of seein’ ya sit ‘round doin’ nothin’.  Either yer at work or passed out on da couch.  I don’t like it.  Now she has her “pouty face” on. 

“Well, I offered ta make ya breakfast ‘nd ya threw a shit-fit.”

“We don’t have fun anymore.  Let’s go do somethin’ crazy.” Anabelle doesn’t need me to pull any of her stunts.

“What do ya wanna do?  My day is wide open.”

“Oh…  Let’s go onna road trip.  Yeah!  I know some people we can stay with in St. Louis.  Maybe stop by Paul’s ta invite him.  See a show somewhere.  It’ll be fun.”

“It would be.  But, I can’t do it.  I hafta work tamorrow ‘nd I only have ‘bout 20 bucks ta last me ‘til payday.  Plus, not sure if yer car could make it ta St. Louis.”  Why does everyone come up with these “great ideas” that are impossible and I have to say “no” to?  Sure, there’s a lot of stuff I’d love to do if time, money, and reality were of no importance.  Of course, going to St. Louis isn’t an insanely impossible adventure, but I can’t do it.  “Why don’t ya call up Paul?  Maybe he can go with ya or someone else.”

“Hmm…  Ferget it.”  She disappears into the house.  Probably going to the bathroom.  Even if I could go to St. Louis, I wouldn’t want to.  It’s such a long drive to just end up standing somewhere watching a terrible band.  She’d ditch me while I end up sleeping on a stranger’s couch.  And, who knows if she’d even drive me back.  It’s not unusual for me to go somewhere with Anabelle and then have to find alternative transportation home.  How many times have I looked for her at a party only to discover her car missing?  “Yer future ain’t lookin’ too bright?”

“Really?  Yer startin’ ta sound like my granpa.”  This coming from a girl I had to carry back to her place because she passed out in a parking lot from drinking too much last week.  “I’ll take yer drink if ya don’t want it.  Somethin’ else I can get ya?”

“Take it.  I’m fine.”  Anabelle begins to sulk in the chair and looks at the neighbor’s house.  It’s in pretty rough shape.  A single woman with two out-of-control kids live there.  The mom works strange hours and the cops are called on her children all the time.  Their garbage frequently blows into our yard and drives my grandpa crazy.  “What happened ta ya, Luke?”

“Ah, nothin’.  Just gotta lot on my plate right now.  That’s all.”

“Well, tell me ‘bout it.”

“Com’on Anabelle.  Ya don’t need ta nag me.”  She jumps up and stomps to her car.  Doesn’t look at me or even say “goodbye.”  Probably will spend the rest of the day at home thinking of a way to punish me.

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