California Part 4
I hate waking up. No, I abhor waking up. Not because I hate my life, or any ridiculous reason like that, but because it means I have to leave that comfort that is the bed and pillow. Being melted into a pillow is a feeling that I don't think I can put into words. That I'm aware of, there are only two things that a person can accomplish and immediately want it again: sleep and sex, and right then I would have traded three weeks worth of sex for two more hours of sleep.
I could hear movement but I dind't ant to acknowledge it. To open my eyes meant admitting defeat, and I wasn't giving in to the idea of getting out of that bed yet. There was some minor shuffling in the kitchen and then in front of the door. I tried desperately to will my brain into shutting off, but it was no good.
The door creaked open and Paula popped her head in. "Wake up sleepy head," she said in the sweetest of voices. Normally I'd find a way to verbally rip someone's head off, but that voice lulled me into a sitting position and had me rubbing the heels of my palms into my eyes angrily. The door closed and I stood and stretched, trying to force blood to rush to my aching joints. Elevation will kill already painful knees, and the almost seven thousand feet above sea level was doing a number all over my body. The stretch immediately caused a head rush and I sat back down trying to gain my wits. "You're dehydrated," I thought. "The last thing you need is elevation sickness. Get off your ass and get moving. Find liquids now, fucker." I stood again and fought the urge to sit back down. the driving from yesterday had drained me, not to mention the time change, and now I was feeling like a bag of death. My knees were already trembling and my head was relearning how to tread water.
"Coffee," my inner voice said angrily. Oh yes, it was in complete anger. You remember that super nice inner voice of mine? He rules my brain in the early hours, and he's no fan of being in charge. "Fuck, dude, go get clean so we can go to California," it said, commanding me to begin my morning.
And so began the routine I take every morning. Urinate, brush teeth, shower (contemplate life, possible arguments, dream battles, and sex), then clothes. Every step of the process drove the inner voice back and made my brain come around to consciousness.
Putting clothes on is always one of my little Wins of the day. I don't know when it started, but as long as I can remember, I always pictured myself putting on armor when I put my clothes on in the morning. (Yes, I'm aware of how silly this is, no I don't give a shit what you think, and yes, I will continue doing it. We good here? Good. Let's continue.) Boxers and socks constitute the padding under the metal, the pants are chainmail, followed immediately by my shoes that are my boots. (Maybe that's where it started. I walk quite a bit differently when I'm not wearing shoes, almost gingerly. With shoes on I feel like I can do anything, but I digress.) My top is a variable depending on the weather. Today we were going with one of my favorite T-shirts turned imaginary chainmail, and my leather jacket. It stays leather, because I want to feel cool.
I quickly gathered up my dirty clothes and my phone. 35% charge. "Well, fuck," I thought, "looks like I need to get that charger ASAP."
Walking into the kitchen was amazing. It smelled of fresh roasted coffee and sent me into a bit of nostalgia. At 7 am, the back of the house was lit up with sunlight. Two large sliding glass doors provided the kitchen with enough light to save on lightbulbs. I stood next to the door for a moment, trying to force myself farther awake while I took in the view. The back of the house faced south and provided the amazing illusion that the town was sinking away from the landscape quickly. I glanced up at a hanging thermometer just outside the door and read 25°F before I cussed aloud involuntarily.
Some snickering behind me turned me turned so fast that I went dizzy for a second. Dave was standing at the bar holding a large, blue mug that read GoreTech. He was smiling that damn smile, dressed in light winter clothes and looking at me like an eager kid who knows something you don't.
"Morning," I said, almost mumbling. I tried not to show that I had to catch my breath after the almost panic attack he sent me into.
He reached his arm around the fridge and produced an identical mug, holding it up to show me the matching labels before handing it to me. "A splash of milk and no sugar, right?"
I nodded, raised the mug in a mock toast and took a sip while turning to look outside again. "Shit, that's good coffee," I said more to myself while looking at the mug in disbelief. I turned my torso and made eye contact with Dave, bobbing my head in agreement at the wonderment that had crossed my lips. He raised his glass in a returned mock toast before taking a sip himself.
"It's not as cold as you think." He said this with a little humor in his voice, almost as if he was holding back a small laugh.
"It says 25°." I pointed to the thermometer. I could feel the cold coming through the glass. It wasn't radiating that far into the house, like I expected it to for 25°, but far enough to know it was cold outside.
"Open the door," he encouraged. I turned and looked at him like he had lost his mind. I could feel my face twist in disbelief at what he just told me and knew that had we not connected the night before that the face I was giving him could easily have been mistaken for rude. "Go ahead. It's not that bad." He smiled and took another sip of the coffee. He was half sitting on the counter with one hand tucked into the armpit of the arm that was slowly feeding that beard his coffee. He was looking between my face and the back door, raising his eyebrows every time he looked at the door and hinting at it with a little too much glee.
I was more than hesitant. I was in a short sleeve shirt and a loose-fit leather jacket. I was not prepared for the cold, as I'd left my hoodie in the back seat of my car. "Son of a bitch," I whispered, turning back to the door and thinking about how cold that hoodie was going to be.
"I'm telling you, open the door," he said, the humor rising quickly in his voice.
Paula walked into the kitchen and looked at both of us questioningly. I motioned toward the thermometer and she quickly laughed. She exchanged a knowing smile with Dave and before I could react, she threw open the back door exposing me to the morning air.
That was not cold at all.
In fact, it was quite nice. "What the hell?!" I was looking between them both, similar to when you decide on which eye to hold in a conversation with someone.
"It's the elevation," Paula explained. "There's no humidity here, so the cold doesn't have the same effect as it does in Texas."
"Or California," Dave chimed merrily, and Paula nodded in an eye-rolled agreement.
I set my coffee on the table and grabbed my camera. This was too good. I started the video camera feature and immediately began filming a short segment about the weather, my shitty little car-that-could, and the beautiful view of the mountains.
They didn't even close the door behind me. A few minutes later I walked back into the kitchen to Paula and Dave doing their morning dance. It was similar to the evening dance, but involved grabbing jackets and double checking that they had remembered their wallets. Dave had made coffee for everyone, which net him an affectionate kiss and a nuzzle of noses. It was endearing that they could find each other so late in life and still be so much in love.
Paula whirled and faced me, anxious to start her day, but not before questioning me. "So where are you headed today?" She was downright thrilled for me. Somewhere between last night's conversation and this morning she had grown into the woman I once knew, and it was apparent I was about to endure at least five good minutes of something I called familiar.
"South to Phoenix, then out to San Diego to meet Justin." My brother was expecting me, but I didn't tell him when I'd be there. You never know when you're going to find another place with four chilis, and I wasn't going to rush my vacation. "Looks like about eight hours today. After yesterday, that should be a cake-walk."
"And what do you plan to do in California?" She was standing closer and closer to me with each question. I don't think she realized that her anxiousness caused her to do this, I just think she was enthralled with the idea of going somewhere new, even if it was mentally.
"Sit on a beach and drink a beer." I gulped the coffee and inserted a purposeful pause for effect. "For a few days, at least. Then I'm going to drive north to Los Angeles and drink a few more beers. I'll be stopping in Phoenix on the way back for a night with Paul, then you'll see me again briefly before I head back to Denton." My coffee had cooled to a tolerable point, so I took a long pull and savored that lovely bean flavor. It was sour and earthy at the same time, with the milk killing just enough of the acid to be comfortable going down.
"Oh, I'm so excited for you!" She was almost squealing as she wrapped me up in a huge hug. Dave was wandering about the kitchen looking puzzled. He was opening cabinets in search of something.
"Are you hungry, bud?" he asked absentmindedly. He was clearly looking for something that would pass as food, but was unsure of where he put it. Between the pizza ingredients last night and the food this morning, I was beginning to think Dave put groceries wherever they would fit and found them as he needed them later.
"I don't normally eat until after coffee. You don't have to go out of your way, I'll grab a doughnut at a gas station."
"Good deal. I think the best I have to offer you is candied pecans," he said while taking my now empty mug. He quickly refilled it, milk and all, and handed it back to me. "Keep it. You'll need it on the road."
"Thanks," I said, lifting the mug again in salute before scalding the tip of my tongue with the fresh cup.
With a silent raising of eyebrows, we agreed it was time to head out. I threw the Backpack of Doom over my shoulder and walked it out to the car where I stood in the driveway for a second admiring the view. From the side of their house there was nothing obstructing the view of the San Francisco Peaks. With the little cloud coverage and sun setting fire to the mountains, they had the appearance of purple candies piercing the sky. I could clearly see three peaks, but guessed there were more hiding behind the largest one. It stood on front of the others like a hot-head flanked by his cronies.
It was beautiful out there. Almost the exact opposite of how it appeared the evening before. The same grass and shadow casting rocks were mirror images of what existed not twelve hours ago. The sun had creeped over the eastern horizon and was just beginning to cast unabated light over everything in sight. The intensity of the morning sun trumped the comfortability of the evening sun and set the mood for the day: Today is going to be something special.
"You ready, sweetie?" Paula was standing next to her SUV holding her purse and her own pink GoreTech coffee mug. She was looking at me questioningly, and waited to be sure I was fully awake before the drive.
"Yeah, let's do this."
"Okay. You be careful," she called.
"Never."
I could hear movement but I dind't ant to acknowledge it. To open my eyes meant admitting defeat, and I wasn't giving in to the idea of getting out of that bed yet. There was some minor shuffling in the kitchen and then in front of the door. I tried desperately to will my brain into shutting off, but it was no good.
The door creaked open and Paula popped her head in. "Wake up sleepy head," she said in the sweetest of voices. Normally I'd find a way to verbally rip someone's head off, but that voice lulled me into a sitting position and had me rubbing the heels of my palms into my eyes angrily. The door closed and I stood and stretched, trying to force blood to rush to my aching joints. Elevation will kill already painful knees, and the almost seven thousand feet above sea level was doing a number all over my body. The stretch immediately caused a head rush and I sat back down trying to gain my wits. "You're dehydrated," I thought. "The last thing you need is elevation sickness. Get off your ass and get moving. Find liquids now, fucker." I stood again and fought the urge to sit back down. the driving from yesterday had drained me, not to mention the time change, and now I was feeling like a bag of death. My knees were already trembling and my head was relearning how to tread water.
"Coffee," my inner voice said angrily. Oh yes, it was in complete anger. You remember that super nice inner voice of mine? He rules my brain in the early hours, and he's no fan of being in charge. "Fuck, dude, go get clean so we can go to California," it said, commanding me to begin my morning.
And so began the routine I take every morning. Urinate, brush teeth, shower (contemplate life, possible arguments, dream battles, and sex), then clothes. Every step of the process drove the inner voice back and made my brain come around to consciousness.
Putting clothes on is always one of my little Wins of the day. I don't know when it started, but as long as I can remember, I always pictured myself putting on armor when I put my clothes on in the morning. (Yes, I'm aware of how silly this is, no I don't give a shit what you think, and yes, I will continue doing it. We good here? Good. Let's continue.) Boxers and socks constitute the padding under the metal, the pants are chainmail, followed immediately by my shoes that are my boots. (Maybe that's where it started. I walk quite a bit differently when I'm not wearing shoes, almost gingerly. With shoes on I feel like I can do anything, but I digress.) My top is a variable depending on the weather. Today we were going with one of my favorite T-shirts turned imaginary chainmail, and my leather jacket. It stays leather, because I want to feel cool.
I quickly gathered up my dirty clothes and my phone. 35% charge. "Well, fuck," I thought, "looks like I need to get that charger ASAP."
Walking into the kitchen was amazing. It smelled of fresh roasted coffee and sent me into a bit of nostalgia. At 7 am, the back of the house was lit up with sunlight. Two large sliding glass doors provided the kitchen with enough light to save on lightbulbs. I stood next to the door for a moment, trying to force myself farther awake while I took in the view. The back of the house faced south and provided the amazing illusion that the town was sinking away from the landscape quickly. I glanced up at a hanging thermometer just outside the door and read 25°F before I cussed aloud involuntarily.
Some snickering behind me turned me turned so fast that I went dizzy for a second. Dave was standing at the bar holding a large, blue mug that read GoreTech. He was smiling that damn smile, dressed in light winter clothes and looking at me like an eager kid who knows something you don't.
"Morning," I said, almost mumbling. I tried not to show that I had to catch my breath after the almost panic attack he sent me into.
He reached his arm around the fridge and produced an identical mug, holding it up to show me the matching labels before handing it to me. "A splash of milk and no sugar, right?"
I nodded, raised the mug in a mock toast and took a sip while turning to look outside again. "Shit, that's good coffee," I said more to myself while looking at the mug in disbelief. I turned my torso and made eye contact with Dave, bobbing my head in agreement at the wonderment that had crossed my lips. He raised his glass in a returned mock toast before taking a sip himself.
"It's not as cold as you think." He said this with a little humor in his voice, almost as if he was holding back a small laugh.
"It says 25°." I pointed to the thermometer. I could feel the cold coming through the glass. It wasn't radiating that far into the house, like I expected it to for 25°, but far enough to know it was cold outside.
"Open the door," he encouraged. I turned and looked at him like he had lost his mind. I could feel my face twist in disbelief at what he just told me and knew that had we not connected the night before that the face I was giving him could easily have been mistaken for rude. "Go ahead. It's not that bad." He smiled and took another sip of the coffee. He was half sitting on the counter with one hand tucked into the armpit of the arm that was slowly feeding that beard his coffee. He was looking between my face and the back door, raising his eyebrows every time he looked at the door and hinting at it with a little too much glee.
I was more than hesitant. I was in a short sleeve shirt and a loose-fit leather jacket. I was not prepared for the cold, as I'd left my hoodie in the back seat of my car. "Son of a bitch," I whispered, turning back to the door and thinking about how cold that hoodie was going to be.
"I'm telling you, open the door," he said, the humor rising quickly in his voice.
Paula walked into the kitchen and looked at both of us questioningly. I motioned toward the thermometer and she quickly laughed. She exchanged a knowing smile with Dave and before I could react, she threw open the back door exposing me to the morning air.
That was not cold at all.
In fact, it was quite nice. "What the hell?!" I was looking between them both, similar to when you decide on which eye to hold in a conversation with someone.
"It's the elevation," Paula explained. "There's no humidity here, so the cold doesn't have the same effect as it does in Texas."
"Or California," Dave chimed merrily, and Paula nodded in an eye-rolled agreement.
I set my coffee on the table and grabbed my camera. This was too good. I started the video camera feature and immediately began filming a short segment about the weather, my shitty little car-that-could, and the beautiful view of the mountains.
They didn't even close the door behind me. A few minutes later I walked back into the kitchen to Paula and Dave doing their morning dance. It was similar to the evening dance, but involved grabbing jackets and double checking that they had remembered their wallets. Dave had made coffee for everyone, which net him an affectionate kiss and a nuzzle of noses. It was endearing that they could find each other so late in life and still be so much in love.
Paula whirled and faced me, anxious to start her day, but not before questioning me. "So where are you headed today?" She was downright thrilled for me. Somewhere between last night's conversation and this morning she had grown into the woman I once knew, and it was apparent I was about to endure at least five good minutes of something I called familiar.
"South to Phoenix, then out to San Diego to meet Justin." My brother was expecting me, but I didn't tell him when I'd be there. You never know when you're going to find another place with four chilis, and I wasn't going to rush my vacation. "Looks like about eight hours today. After yesterday, that should be a cake-walk."
"And what do you plan to do in California?" She was standing closer and closer to me with each question. I don't think she realized that her anxiousness caused her to do this, I just think she was enthralled with the idea of going somewhere new, even if it was mentally.
"Sit on a beach and drink a beer." I gulped the coffee and inserted a purposeful pause for effect. "For a few days, at least. Then I'm going to drive north to Los Angeles and drink a few more beers. I'll be stopping in Phoenix on the way back for a night with Paul, then you'll see me again briefly before I head back to Denton." My coffee had cooled to a tolerable point, so I took a long pull and savored that lovely bean flavor. It was sour and earthy at the same time, with the milk killing just enough of the acid to be comfortable going down.
"Oh, I'm so excited for you!" She was almost squealing as she wrapped me up in a huge hug. Dave was wandering about the kitchen looking puzzled. He was opening cabinets in search of something.
"Are you hungry, bud?" he asked absentmindedly. He was clearly looking for something that would pass as food, but was unsure of where he put it. Between the pizza ingredients last night and the food this morning, I was beginning to think Dave put groceries wherever they would fit and found them as he needed them later.
"I don't normally eat until after coffee. You don't have to go out of your way, I'll grab a doughnut at a gas station."
"Good deal. I think the best I have to offer you is candied pecans," he said while taking my now empty mug. He quickly refilled it, milk and all, and handed it back to me. "Keep it. You'll need it on the road."
"Thanks," I said, lifting the mug again in salute before scalding the tip of my tongue with the fresh cup.
With a silent raising of eyebrows, we agreed it was time to head out. I threw the Backpack of Doom over my shoulder and walked it out to the car where I stood in the driveway for a second admiring the view. From the side of their house there was nothing obstructing the view of the San Francisco Peaks. With the little cloud coverage and sun setting fire to the mountains, they had the appearance of purple candies piercing the sky. I could clearly see three peaks, but guessed there were more hiding behind the largest one. It stood on front of the others like a hot-head flanked by his cronies.
It was beautiful out there. Almost the exact opposite of how it appeared the evening before. The same grass and shadow casting rocks were mirror images of what existed not twelve hours ago. The sun had creeped over the eastern horizon and was just beginning to cast unabated light over everything in sight. The intensity of the morning sun trumped the comfortability of the evening sun and set the mood for the day: Today is going to be something special.
"You ready, sweetie?" Paula was standing next to her SUV holding her purse and her own pink GoreTech coffee mug. She was looking at me questioningly, and waited to be sure I was fully awake before the drive.
"Yeah, let's do this."
"Okay. You be careful," she called.
"Never."