body for sports al the time, and he focused a lot of his mental energy on girls. He rarely slept.
I went downstairs and laid out everything for breakfast. I wasn’t going to cook much. It was just toast, sausage, and juice. Once I was finished getting the kitchen set up, I made sure the laundry that ran last night was dry. It was, but I turned the knob so the dryer would run for about fifteen minutes. It would eliminate the wrinkles in the clothes, al owing me to then hang them up—or more accurately, drape them over a chair—or fold them nicely. Being the son – a responsible son – of a single father forced me to have to pay attention to these things. I helped dad out wherever I could.
At six thirty, I went back upstairs and knocked on Aaron’s door. I didn’t wait for a response before cracking open the door. It was dark in his room, but I could stil see the outlines of the figures on the posters on his wal . They were a mixture of top athletes, swimsuit models, and hot female singers and actresses. In between the pictures of celebrities were banners and pennants of his favorite teams. I understood the Chicago teams: the Bears, the Bul s, the Cubs, the Blackhawks, the Chicago Fire, but I had a harder time understanding why he liked teams that were so far away. He liked the Yankees. He liked the Colts and the 49ers, too.
“Aaron,” I whispered loudly. He didn’t budge. I entered his room and pul ed open his dark curtains. “Hey, A!” I said louder as I pul ed up the blinds. Again, he didn’t make a sound, so I went over to his bed and shook him a bit. It was like this most mornings.
He grumbled. I shook him again and said, “Aaron, it’s time to wake up.”
He nestled deeper into the fluffy pil ow and curled himself into a bal , pul ing the covers tight around him. He was mumbling something about “too early . . . stupid school . . . supposed be sleeping.”
“Aaron, seriously, dude, you have to wake up.” I pushed him onto his back, placed my hands on his shoulders, and pressed down. I released and then pressed again. I did this over and over again, making his body bounce on the bed. It was the only way I knew to get him up. “Aaron!” Final y, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Okay, okay, okay!”
I withdrew and stood up straight as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Dammit,” he said gruffly.
“When did you get to sleep?”
A deep rumbling sound erupted from him as he stretched. “After two.”
I felt bad for him. He’d always had more trouble sleeping than I had, but in the past couple of years, it’d gotten worse for him. He was now what I would cal an insomniac. I told him over and over again that he needed to tel Dad, but he refused.
“You going to be okay?” I asked, going to the door.
He made a noncommittal noise in response. “You want coffee?”
He stood up and shook his head. “We’l get some on the way. I don’t want Dad to flip out.” Dad was pretty adamant that Aaron adhere to a proper nutritious diet and wouldn’t like Aaron using caffeine to disguise lack of sleep. He let us have coffee, but today was a practice day for Aaron, so starting it off with false energy would not be acceptable.
Downstairs, Aaron stumbled around until his body woke up. We sat down to eat, and he asked, “You gonna tutor Livia tonight?” he asked with a ful mouth.
I paused mid-bite. His question took me by surprise. I hadn’t thought about her at al this morning, but now she was back dancing through my mind. “Um, no. I don’t think so. I’ve got practice tonight.” Aaron should’ve known my schedule. It was very similar to his footbal schedule. But I wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t paid attention. Unless it directly affected him, he barely noticed some things.
“Next time you do, ask her if she has a boyfriend, and if she wants one.”
As I finished my toast, I could feel it just sitting in my stomach. Aaron had been after lots of girls. I didn’t know what
I went downstairs and laid out everything for breakfast. I wasn’t going to cook much. It was just toast, sausage, and juice. Once I was finished getting the kitchen set up, I made sure the laundry that ran last night was dry. It was, but I turned the knob so the dryer would run for about fifteen minutes. It would eliminate the wrinkles in the clothes, al owing me to then hang them up—or more accurately, drape them over a chair—or fold them nicely. Being the son – a responsible son – of a single father forced me to have to pay attention to these things. I helped dad out wherever I could.
At six thirty, I went back upstairs and knocked on Aaron’s door. I didn’t wait for a response before cracking open the door. It was dark in his room, but I could stil see the outlines of the figures on the posters on his wal . They were a mixture of top athletes, swimsuit models, and hot female singers and actresses. In between the pictures of celebrities were banners and pennants of his favorite teams. I understood the Chicago teams: the Bears, the Bul s, the Cubs, the Blackhawks, the Chicago Fire, but I had a harder time understanding why he liked teams that were so far away. He liked the Yankees. He liked the Colts and the 49ers, too.
“Aaron,” I whispered loudly. He didn’t budge. I entered his room and pul ed open his dark curtains. “Hey, A!” I said louder as I pul ed up the blinds. Again, he didn’t make a sound, so I went over to his bed and shook him a bit. It was like this most mornings.
He grumbled. I shook him again and said, “Aaron, it’s time to wake up.”
He nestled deeper into the fluffy pil ow and curled himself into a bal , pul ing the covers tight around him. He was mumbling something about “too early . . . stupid school . . . supposed be sleeping.”
“Aaron, seriously, dude, you have to wake up.” I pushed him onto his back, placed my hands on his shoulders, and pressed down. I released and then pressed again. I did this over and over again, making his body bounce on the bed. It was the only way I knew to get him up. “Aaron!” Final y, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Okay, okay, okay!”
I withdrew and stood up straight as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Dammit,” he said gruffly.
“When did you get to sleep?”
A deep rumbling sound erupted from him as he stretched. “After two.”
I felt bad for him. He’d always had more trouble sleeping than I had, but in the past couple of years, it’d gotten worse for him. He was now what I would cal an insomniac. I told him over and over again that he needed to tel Dad, but he refused.
“You going to be okay?” I asked, going to the door.
He made a noncommittal noise in response. “You want coffee?”
He stood up and shook his head. “We’l get some on the way. I don’t want Dad to flip out.” Dad was pretty adamant that Aaron adhere to a proper nutritious diet and wouldn’t like Aaron using caffeine to disguise lack of sleep. He let us have coffee, but today was a practice day for Aaron, so starting it off with false energy would not be acceptable.
Downstairs, Aaron stumbled around until his body woke up. We sat down to eat, and he asked, “You gonna tutor Livia tonight?” he asked with a ful mouth.
I paused mid-bite. His question took me by surprise. I hadn’t thought about her at al this morning, but now she was back dancing through my mind. “Um, no. I don’t think so. I’ve got practice tonight.” Aaron should’ve known my schedule. It was very similar to his footbal schedule. But I wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t paid attention. Unless it directly affected him, he barely noticed some things.
“Next time you do, ask her if she has a boyfriend, and if she wants one.”
As I finished my toast, I could feel it just sitting in my stomach. Aaron had been after lots of girls. I didn’t know what
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