The blaring of my phone's alarm clock roused me from my sleep. My hand habitually slammed on top of my phone, shutting off my alarm. Glaring at the screen, I read the time of 4:45, the amount of time it took me to change, take a shower, and eat some breakfast.
At the moment I didn't feel like moving much; my mind was still foggy and preoccupied by the dream I just had. It was similar to the dream I had about Ayumi, but instead of killing her, it was my father.
Why do I keep dreaming about people who I have encountered in grand or emotional ways?
After about five minutes I finally stood up, unbuttoning my pajama shirt and folding it back up before putting it back up on the hanger. I wasn't really one to reuse clothing, but wearing the same pajamas every night seemed to have some sort of comfort to it.
I slipped on some soft yet stiff slippers and approached the closet, opening the large door. Inside there were a few outfits on hangers, some on the floor, and some inside of the dresser within the closet.
My school uniform was tucked inside of a drawer: a white button-up shirt, a navy blue tie with a blazer of the same color, and matching navy blue pants. Back in America, I think school uniforms weren't the norm, but I'm kind of glad they are here.
I would have probably made some erratic fashion choice and drawn attention to myself, so I'm glad I'm able to blend into the crowd with a matching uniform.
I removed the uniform from the drawer, holding up the white button-up shirt. It was a refined yet simple shirt, with an overlapping button placket with sleeve cuffs. The sleeves ended around the elbows.
The navy blue blazer was soft on the inside and had a more silky, sheen finish on the outside. On either side of the blazer were two pockets deep enough to hold both of my hands up to my wrists.
After I grabbed my uniform, I laid it out on my bed and stepped aside. My hand lingered around the hem of my underwear, but I hesitated from completely undressing until I could grab a towel to cover myself completely.
I usually woke up before my parents, meaning I didn't have to worry about them seeing me naked. But there was one time that I could remember vividly in spite of my memory problems. I was getting ready for school and I left my bedroom with a towel around my waist.
My father had awoken early and was puking in the bathroom from the alcohol he had consumed the night prior. I didn't hear him until I opened the bathroom door, seeing the man hunched over the toilet and coughing up vomit into the toilet bowl, a little running down his mouth when he had turned to me and jumped.
I shivered upon remembering that, remembering with a clear memory how he had threatened to beat me to a pulp if I "ever crossed him like this again." Ever since, I ensured I would listen to the bathroom for a good five minutes before making any moves.
...
I turned on the shower faucet, feeling the hot water grace my skin. It was like a game of Russian roulette with the water. Sometimes it would be scorching hot, other times it would be ice cold, and other times it would be in between. Due to the instability of our water system and the lack of government funding for services in our neighborhood, our water had a tendency to fluctuate in both pressure and temperature.
It seemed like every scrub was a gamble to not receive first or even second degree burns by damn shower water.
I took a deep breath as the steam began to rise over the curtain and into the rest of the bathroom. It was like I had my own private sauna at times, and other times it would be like I was in the middle of the Arctic Circle. Picking up the damp rag everyone in the house used to wash our bodies, I began to lather myself in the soap.
In times of rare tendency in my rather mundane and somewhat depressing life, my mind always tended to wander. I had never been one to invest with what had been happening with my mind to turbulent levels, but when you've been mostly alone all of your life and forced to fend on your own, you can't help but go to a place, even if it's hazy, that makes you somewhat happy.
Behind my eyelids faint lights flickered, accompanied by music I didn't exactly recognize, but at the same time it still gave me a small yet opulent rush. Beneath my feet, I felt pavement gradually materialize underneath my shoes. I could hear voices around me, they all sounded joyful and filled with anticipation and wonder, as if it were their first time journeying with me.
"Next!" I male voice shouted out. My eyes snapped open, and I saw a middle aged man wearing a tuxedo standing behind a ticket booth, his brown mustache above his lips curling as he smiled.
I looked down at myself, taking in my new attire. I was wearing a white button up shirt similar to my uniform, except it had a few buttons missing on the placket.
I was donned a pair of overalls, the leather straps over my shoulders having worn slightly from usage. This was my mental image, this is who I wanted to be at the moment.
"Sorry..." I dug through my pocket and pulled out a small ticket. It was red with golden piping along the edges, and it had the logo of the movie theatre on both faces of it.
The man behind the counter smiled as he took the ticket and stowed it below in a bucket.
"Enjoy the show." He said as he tipped his hat.
I nodded silently, my gaze flickering on his eyes. They were brown like his hair and mustache, and they seemed opulent, soft and bright. They were much like Ayumi's eyes, the only other pair of eyes to gaze at me in such a way.
"Go on now." He said, waving his right hand in my direction—signaling me to move in time for the rest of the patrons.
When I entered the movie theatre I looked above at the numerous large film posters sitting above the concession stand and entrances to numerous movie theatres.
One of them showcased a woman, her eyes wide with terror as a spider ten times the usual size was crawling towards her. The woman was restrained with chains as she struggled in the poster to escape.
Too scary.
Another poster showcased a group of men carrying revolvers, dawning clothing I'd probably see during the revolutionary war. The title made it somewhat obvious that it was a war movie.
Too violent.
The next poster had a portrait of a man and a woman dancing on a moonlit balcony, two glasses of champagne sitting on the railing as they engaged in a lovely, passionate kiss.
It didn't appear scary or violent, it looked like the kind of movie someone would watch in the evening to unwind and contemplate things.
This was my movie theatre, so I could watch whatever I wanted!
I put one foot in front of the other as I approached the concession stand, picking up a large bag of popcorn they offered for free. It was the 1920's and the economy was booming, so free accommodations such as these were common and often found in most places.
Entering the movie theatre I noticed the lack of people who had entered either ahead or behind me. When I turned around, the door was closed, and it didn't open for the next minute.
Nobody had gone to see this movie. I guess they preferred the more violent or scary movies over romance. I was a bit of a helpless romantic.
The movie theatre's showing room was pretty large, with twenty rows of seats stretching upwards, stopping below the wall separating the projection booth and the movie screen.
I found a comfortable seat at the top of the theatre room, placing my bag of popcorn in the seat beside me. With a sigh I took a bite of the popcorn, feeling the salty sensation hitting my tongue.
The projector suddenly activated, causing the entire theatre room to light up as the screen ignited with white light.
"Moonlight and Margaritas."
That was the title of the movie.
...
My eyes opened again, and I felt the now cold water splashing against my skin. My body recoiled back, pressing with dear life against the shower wall.
Worldly pleasures only lasted for a moment, but even with such time, indulgence wasn't the worst thing in the world.
...
Stepping out of the shower I left the bathroom with a towel coiled around my waist. The cold tile of the hallway didn't make me wince, for the sudden burst of cold water had already done so.
When I gazed at my phone I saw the time had now reached 5:15. I had been in the shower for a whole thirty minutes.
In our house water was a valuable commodity, so I felt a little guilty, but I reached for my uniform nonetheless. Buttoning up the shirt felt somewhat satisfying, feeling the buttons slide into their holes with small clicks.
After adjusting the collar I grabbed the navy blue tie, feeling a small pit in my stomach. I wasn't good at tying a tie, so I often let it go undone around my waist until I was corrected for it at school.
Afterwards I would go somewhere and watch the same online tutorial. The reason I didn't do so back here was that we had no internet connection, because my parents couldn't afford that kind of thing.
I would have tried downloading a video or two, but I didn't want to spend the residual effort I had already used to wake up, contemplate my existence and get dressed.
Putting on my navy blue pants I stepped out of my bedroom and put on some socks which clung loosely to my ankles. They weren't too small for me, but my parents didn't want to buy anymore.
Slowly walking into the kitchen I assessed what we had to eat for breakfast. The usual I ate was either cereal or frozen toaster waffles without any syrup. In health class I had learned the concept of "brain food," or food which was able to get your brain working in the morning, but I never really regarded topics like that as prevalent to me.
Whatever I needed to survive, I got it, and I would learn if it was a mistake.
I opened the freezer underneath the fridge and took out the box of frozen toaster waffles, the box having been worn and was slightly soggy.
Opening it I peaked in and saw what we had left. There were only four toaster waffles left for me to eat. If doing the math correctly I could eat two over the next two days to ensure I had an appetizing breakfast for a little while longer.
Or I could devour all four as I walked to school, living off of the dry grain cereal in the cabinet for the rest of the week until my mother bought a new round of groceries.
After a little deliberation I picked up all four of the waffles and stuffed them into my coat.
As I was walking towards the door I heard my parents bedroom door open, and a pair of footsteps walking out of their bedroom.
"Getting ready I assume? You know if you skip I'll be dragging your ass in a wheelchair down the sidewalk."
I couldn't tell if my father was joking with what he said. He'd always made threats like that—threats to punish me if I ever stepped out of line—his line.
"You know me, I won't skip." I looked back at my father for a few moments, watching as the burly man's lips curled up into a small smile.
"Have a good day, Mr. Nauseous."