Honea Express

A lack of sleep and a bottle of something teamed up to make my morning a series of echoes and drumbeats. The drummers stood bedside and they beat their drums slowly.

“Can we play the Wii?” they asked.

“Will you make breakfast?” they hounded.

“I have to go potty,” they threatened.

They were up too early, because it was Saturday. If it were a school day I would be the one standing over them as they lay warm and oblivious. But it wasn’t a school day. It was the weekend and they were up early and I had been up late.

I got up. I wiped a butt. I made some breakfast. I drank some coffee. I took some aspirin.

The boys traded drumsticks for forks and beats for bites. I stood in the open doorway and felt the cold air on my face. The fog rolled off the hills and the rain splashed against my bare feet.

Behind me teams were being picked, the two of them dividing and competing and planning ways to best their opponent.

“I’m on your team,” one brother said to the other.

I stood at the door as they charged the day and I pitied any foe that made its way past me.