Monday, August 4, 2008

Chivas Regale

I’m waking out of a total haze, racking my brain in an attempt to regain a plausible sense of surrounding. All mornings are strange like this.
Vaguely, I can tell that I’m comfortable, and in the presence of someone I like very much. My uncle? His place in California, with my mom, her best friend’s house, maybe? We took this vacation in Colorado, once- like this, sort of. I could be six, sixteen or sixty, how would I know, anyway?
I heard glasses clink. Click.
“Amy,” I said, meant less in address but more in acknowledgement…I might have just said, “good” in a matter-of-fact-ly way.
“Hey, I’m going to work. Keep sleeping, ok? The door will lock behind you, don’t worry about it”.
“I made some espresso, it’s on the stove. There’s fruit in the fridge, too”.
“Thanks,” I murmured, not wanting to leave my dreamy state, “I love you,”
“I love you, too”
I sighed, happy, provincial. I heard more glasses clink. Or plates.
“Don’t do those,” I told my pillow, hoping Nellie heard. “I’ll do them, really”.
Also, that will wake me up. She turned the faucet off.
“Bye, Chivas” I heard her say. Door closed. Damn.

“Chivaas”, I whined, “Go away”. Amy owns a slightly bowed bulldog named
Chivas, that she loves for reasons beyond my reach and ability. Chivas has huge eyes (very watery) that make ignoring him that much more difficult.
He licked my face.
“Go away!” I opened my eyes; Chivas stared at them.
“Fine,” I muttered, “We’ll share”. I tried to fall back asleep, but Chivas then crawled to my right, stealing some pillow space. I sighed; the spell broke.

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