A Chapter (Waking the Dead)
We were living in the house on Kinkaid Ct. I was maybe 6 or 7. My mom had fallen asleep on the living room couch, which was unusual. Although she was tired as often as any mother of three, she rarely capitulated in such a manner. Dad always said it was because Mom associated sleeping in the middle of the day with being sick or bad or something. I don't know. The point is, she was passed out on the couch, and I was hungry. I wanted a snack. I considered waking her to ask for one, but that seemed imprudent. I considered my options, and decided that some toast was a reasonable solution. I knew how to make toast. It would not require adult supervision.
I got the bread out of the fridge and opened the bag. The inner, super-crinkly bag was unopened, and I seized upon a golden opportunity. Here was not only the chance to make my own snack, but also to make it SILENTLY. Mom wouldn't even KNOW I WAS THERE. I would penetrate those crackling layers of plastic with ninja-like skill. When Mom awoke, I would ask her "Did you hear me opening the bread bag?" and she would say "WHAT bread bag?"
With intense concentration, I set to work. First I carefully slid one finger under the flap that sealed the inner bag. I imagined it would open like an envelope, provided I could supply just the right pressure. This first step went somewhat awry. Rather than the adhesive giving way, the plastic tore along an unfathomable zig-zag path that stopped nearly halfway down the bread loaf. Despite this setback, I remained undaunted. Surely the worst was over. But nay. The zig-zagging tear would not allow for the extraction of slices. Further bag navigation was called for. I decided to try again with the flap. This time I worked more slowly. The adhesive still didn't give, but, through careful manipulation, I was able to tear the plastic along the line where the adhesive SHOULD have given. Some minutes later, I was able to free a couple of slices. I put them in the toaster and was happily waiting for my hard-earned snack when it dawned on me. I would have to close the bread bag, too. At this point the inner bag was in tatters. If I wanted to be able to get the twist-tie on the outer bag, I would need to smash the inner one down a bit. My strategy for this was to do it as slowly as possible, thus minimizing the volume of the crinkling. I managed to get the task accomplished just as my toast popped up.
I was still eating when my mom arose from the couch, looking, I'm afraid, a bit grouchy. Swelling with pride and eager to reveal my stealth activities, I launched the realization of my earlier fantasy: "Did you hear me opening the bread bag?" Slowly she turned to me. Through narrowed eyes she took in the sight of me and my toast. Through gritted teeth she responded "You could have woken the DEAD with that bread bag."
I got the bread out of the fridge and opened the bag. The inner, super-crinkly bag was unopened, and I seized upon a golden opportunity. Here was not only the chance to make my own snack, but also to make it SILENTLY. Mom wouldn't even KNOW I WAS THERE. I would penetrate those crackling layers of plastic with ninja-like skill. When Mom awoke, I would ask her "Did you hear me opening the bread bag?" and she would say "WHAT bread bag?"
With intense concentration, I set to work. First I carefully slid one finger under the flap that sealed the inner bag. I imagined it would open like an envelope, provided I could supply just the right pressure. This first step went somewhat awry. Rather than the adhesive giving way, the plastic tore along an unfathomable zig-zag path that stopped nearly halfway down the bread loaf. Despite this setback, I remained undaunted. Surely the worst was over. But nay. The zig-zagging tear would not allow for the extraction of slices. Further bag navigation was called for. I decided to try again with the flap. This time I worked more slowly. The adhesive still didn't give, but, through careful manipulation, I was able to tear the plastic along the line where the adhesive SHOULD have given. Some minutes later, I was able to free a couple of slices. I put them in the toaster and was happily waiting for my hard-earned snack when it dawned on me. I would have to close the bread bag, too. At this point the inner bag was in tatters. If I wanted to be able to get the twist-tie on the outer bag, I would need to smash the inner one down a bit. My strategy for this was to do it as slowly as possible, thus minimizing the volume of the crinkling. I managed to get the task accomplished just as my toast popped up.
I was still eating when my mom arose from the couch, looking, I'm afraid, a bit grouchy. Swelling with pride and eager to reveal my stealth activities, I launched the realization of my earlier fantasy: "Did you hear me opening the bread bag?" Slowly she turned to me. Through narrowed eyes she took in the sight of me and my toast. Through gritted teeth she responded "You could have woken the DEAD with that bread bag."