A Morning Routine Fantasy Ends with a Wake-Up Call
My day starts at precisely 6:15 A.M. Once I get out of bed, I walk slowly to the shower; the only sound in the house is the creaking floors beneath me. I take my sweet time in the shower, thinking about the glorious day ahead, knowing I have plenty of time for the rest of my morning routine. Once my body is fully clean, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and turn the knob counterclockwise to stop the steaming hot shower. I step out onto my heated floor, and I quickly grab a towel to dry myself as steam rises from my chest. When I am dry, I step into my nice, dry-cleaned outfit that I had planned out the night before. Now fully dressed and ready for the day ahead, I stroll through the hallway to my kitchen and take out food from the fridge. Today, I will make soft-boiled eggs and brioche French toast for me and my family. My cooking skills are efficient and clean, and by the time 6:50 rolls around, the food is on the table and ready as my family members make their way to their seats.
I thumb through each page of The Riverdale Review as I slice into a fluffy piece of French toast. After I am finished, I clean my dirty dish and my emptied glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, satiated. As I walk back to my bathroom, my precious puppy greets me with extensive licks that fill me with joy. I smoothly proceed to brush my teeth for two minutes, shave my face, and put on deodorant for the day. I throw the backpack I packed the night before over my shoulder and onto my back, say goodbye to my parents, and gently press the elevator button once before waiting patiently for it to come. When it arrives, I enter the elevator, click the lobby button, and sit down slowly as I wait for the elevator to reach the lobby floor. I walk out and engage in conversation with my doorman about our new favorite New York sports team that is on fire: the Riverdale Ice Hockey Team. After a nice five-minute conversation, I walk outside and step onto the bus I arrive perfectly on time for, sitting in my designated seat—
—AAANG! AAANG! AAANG! My eyes shoot open as my fantasy comes to an abrupt end. I’m not on a bus with a satisfied stomach and Metro Boomin playing in my ears. My brain scrambles as I rip the sheets off my bed, and my eyes dart to the loud trilling of my alarm clock—my contact lenses from yesterday still in—which blurrily looks like it says 7:27 A.M. As I examine the room around me, I see my books scattered across my desk. I was up all night studying for my chemistry test, the biggest one of the year. I toss my books in my bag, and struggle to zip it up. Of course, the zipper gets caught on my pajamas. Another glance at the clock, and I know there’s no time for any sort of cleaning or food. I slam the elevator button, jam my finger, and swing down my bag, racing to the kitchen to grab a water bottle. I shove mint gum into my mouth for breakfast and rush back to the elevator, half-putting my shoes on so that I flatten their backs, practically not even wearing them.
The elevator springs open, but I can only think of chemistry vocabulary. After what felt like an eternity of pacing back and forth anxiously in the elevator, it arrives in the lobby, and I sprint out. The doorman is nowhere to be seen, so I blast through the front door before sprinting to catch up to my bus. I narrowly avoid cars before a friend at the back of the bus sees me and alerts the driver to stop. I did it—and I would make it to school. Panting and sweaty but with a triumphant grin on my face, I watched as the bus door opened. To my surprise, the driver looked concerned. “Kid, are you feeling alright? You shouldn’t be here,” he said. I reached into my pocket to pull out my phone and show him that this was my bus. I couldn’t feel my phone in my pockets so I looked down to see where it could be. But all I saw was that I was standing in the middle of Madison Avenue with no bag, no phone, still in my pajamas.
