It was one of those wide awake at 4:00 in the morning mornings. Staring at the ceiling fan go round and round, I turn and stare at the silhouettes of the Palm Trees I can see from my bed. Tossing the other way, Goddess snores as she lies half-way in and half-way out of the bedroom door protecting me from whatever she thinks may come for me in the night. The aroma of Pot Roast in the Crock Pot permeates through the house as it stewes in the kitchen.
I sigh and get up.
Goddess pops her head up and follows me outside to the beloved back deck. It's cold and clear. Stars twinkle and the moon baths the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt. All is quiet and still.
"I can go to the Breakfast Club," I think to myself. "Somebody's already there getting ready. The Cook's Coffee is on."
The Cook's Coffee is strong stuff and could be used for multiple other purposes other than waking up for another day slaving on the grill. Given the high price of Air Line tickets I think it should be brewed as fuel for Jet Airliners.
There's been many a sleepless night when I've done this, wandering into the Breakfast Club where the grills are filled with bacon and onions or peppers are being sliced, the music is blaring, and the lights are blazing. I've stumbled in and poured myself a cup of the diesel fuel and sat down. Whoever was cooking or chopping looks up and nods but doesn't say anything. I shrug my shoulders in response and we are all together in the solidarity of a day that begins in the night.
"Not tonight," I think to myself.
I return to the bed, the ceiling fan and the Palm Trees. The tossing and the turning embrace me again. My mind runs like a broken faucet.
Goddess meanders back inside, loudly plops on the floor and sighs out loud for me.
The clock beside the bed shines the time on the ceiling and I watch the minutes slowly pass.
I get back up and turn on the lights of the Christmas Tree which is still up. Lying on the blue couch in the red room I stare at it.
Aside from a few things that my Mom saved from the past, every single ornament on it is a new gift from someone on Tybee.
I ponder this.
"That's apropos," I say out loud.
Then I get up and shower. Throwing on jeans and a tee shirt from St. Martin, I give Goddess treats for guiding me through another night. Jumping in the cold car, I drive to the Breakfast Club where the stools are crowded with others whose days started in the middle of the night.
Sipping coffee, Ryan asks if Sarah and I want to go to a hockey game with him. Wen and Sean blow in a give me hugs and we talk about our kids, mostly girls. Whitley actually appears to be awake. Car Queer is asking where Johnny O is. Philip is standing tall and proud over his coming child. Patti is suddenly interested in Cyber School.
The conversation naturally turns to when we will all live under a bridge together.
The day has begun.
We all just needed one another to get it going.
