There's nothing like a spur-of-the-moment cry. It's like a downpour in hundred-degree weather; you never even knew it was coming. The flood gates are, well, flooded and every bitter thing that has ever happened in your life comes thundering down. You wish the clouds will stay overcast and no one can see the streaks on your cheeks. Right now, the sunlight would be blinding and the last thing you want is for someone to ask if you're alright. That question will instantly tear at you and your feelings will betray you. A breakdown is imminent. You can only hope you're in bed alone at this point and that everyone is asleep. Your whimpers and muffled sobs and sniffles will alert anyone who is nearly awake. Yet, you can't stop. Sometimes the hurt just bursts out on its own. Now I know what a rain cloud feels like. Once it's empty, it's drained of the heaviness for now and is hollow; it's a cycle that can't be broken. It knows it will soon be full of evaporated sorrows, years of tears of others and self.. Tonight, it rained. Tomorrow will be clear, but I can foresee a 90% chance of showers in the near future. The cloud looms. All I want to know is who is willing to get wet?

Rude Awakening

I slowly chewed my banana-covered French toast while a slow hum betrayed me.

"Mmmm.."

I couldn't deny that it was delicious. I blinked rapidly to regain focus. It was as if I was waking finally. My palette was too.

"Thank you, baby. I needed this,"

I said to my daughter only to be met by a doe-like stare.

"Thank me, no, thank you, Mom. You cooked, not me."

My chewing slowed to a halt as a bulge of grits lay in my cheek. Did I cook?

I walked to the kitchen to clear my plate; suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore. There were dishes washed, coffee made, and after-breakfast pots piled in the sink.

What the hell.

Mornings are my mortal enemy.

I walked deeper into the kitchen and turned on the radio.

"I'm going to take my shower, Mom,"

my daughter yelled out to me.

"Alright,"

I replied as I waited perched on the counter. The bathroom was humming with a steady stream of water as the CD player sprang to life.

"You will wake up early. You will make me breakfast. You will make french toast, Mom. You will feed me, oh, and give me twenty dollars."

The CD repeated the eerie chant. I blinked blankly at the brainwashing that I fell victim to. I turned to my FM station quickly. This was too much to handle!

"Mom,"

my conniving child called to me.

"I'm going out to the movies today. Can I have twenty dollars?"

She smiled sweetly as my mind and mouth differed in response.

"I don't have it."

Is all I came up with. My eyebrows furrowed in aggravation.

"Shit,"

I heard her mumble.

I smiled on the inside at her defeat. She couldn't have planned for that.

I walked away and went to run my own shower. I still needed to shake the hold she had on me. Realizing I'd left my coffee in the kitchen, I walked back to retrieve it.

"The damned CD didn't work!"

I heard my beloved say into the telephone receiver.

I walked back to the bathroom plotting tomorrow's revenge.

Chores galore for the mini-me who tricked me on a Saturday morning. I was rudely awakened from my much needed slumber, so why not return the favor?