Mornings with Orpik
Beep beep beep beep Beep Beep Beep BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP-
“Nghhunghhh…”
An aimless hand fumbled in the dark, knocking over a-luckily empty-ceramic cup and shoving aside balls of wadded-up tissue in its scrounging search for the screeching alarm. Trembling fingers closed around the quivering little machine, picking it up and holding it parallel to the polished wood floor.
BEEP BEEP BEEP SMASH.
Silence.
Brooks stared at the undersides of his eyelids.
‘I hate mornings.’
With an unhappy groan, the woozy defenseman sluggishly rolled out of bed. His bare feet hit the cool wood and he picked up the empty cup, clutching it to him as he stumbled to the door. The inviting knowledge of wonderful things to come was the only thing that kept him moving.
‘Coffee. Coooffeee.’
The kitchen was still dark in the pre-dawn light, the sky outside a pale rosy hue. Brooks shuffled to the coffeemaker, wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms; shivering as the cool air hit his chest. It occurred to him belatedly that it possible wasn’t the smartest thing to be wearing so little while recovering from a cold, but the idea of going back to his room to get his bathrobe-and thus putting off the delicious taste of coffee on his tongue-was distinctly unappealing.
Toby had about five billion different types of coffees and teas, just waiting to be ground, but Brooks reached unerringly for the can of instant in the corner. There was a time for Starbucks, a time for Tim Horton’s; a time for the richness of Seattle’s Best-and then there were the times you just wanted instant gratification.
‘Mmm, coffee…’
As he set the water to heat, Brook became aware of muffled shuffling noises coming from the living room. He made sure his coffee was well on its way to being made before wandering in that direction, sniffling with blocked sinuses. He stopped in the doorway and turned on the lights.
Beechie. And…Toby. On the floor.
Having sex.
Beechie was lying on his back, Toby’s hands planted on the floor to either side of his head. His arms were wrapped around Toby’s neck and they both were covered by a blanket-‘thankyougodthankyouthankyou’-as they stared up at Brooks.
Who stared back.
And turned the lights back off.
‘Coffee!’ His beleaguered mind wailed. ‘Coffee!’
The water was deemed hot enough and Brooks filled his cup to nearly the brim, concentrating on his task with a single-minded determination that would have put a bloodhound to shame. Precious brew in hand, he beat a hasty retreat back to his room, curling up in bed with the sheet pulled over his head, creating a little tent that soon filled with the aromatic scent of coffee. Briefly, an arm emerged from the blankets to grab and draw in a box of tissues to the happy world of isolated coffee-enjoyment.
‘…they were having sex.’
Brooks’s groan was muffled beneath the pile of sheets.
‘I really hate mornings…’
-
“Nghhunghhh…”
An aimless hand fumbled in the dark, knocking over a-luckily empty-ceramic cup and shoving aside balls of wadded-up tissue in its scrounging search for the screeching alarm. Trembling fingers closed around the quivering little machine, picking it up and holding it parallel to the polished wood floor.
BEEP BEEP BEEP SMASH.
Silence.
Brooks stared at the undersides of his eyelids.
‘I hate mornings.’
With an unhappy groan, the woozy defenseman sluggishly rolled out of bed. His bare feet hit the cool wood and he picked up the empty cup, clutching it to him as he stumbled to the door. The inviting knowledge of wonderful things to come was the only thing that kept him moving.
‘Coffee. Coooffeee.’
The kitchen was still dark in the pre-dawn light, the sky outside a pale rosy hue. Brooks shuffled to the coffeemaker, wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms; shivering as the cool air hit his chest. It occurred to him belatedly that it possible wasn’t the smartest thing to be wearing so little while recovering from a cold, but the idea of going back to his room to get his bathrobe-and thus putting off the delicious taste of coffee on his tongue-was distinctly unappealing.
Toby had about five billion different types of coffees and teas, just waiting to be ground, but Brooks reached unerringly for the can of instant in the corner. There was a time for Starbucks, a time for Tim Horton’s; a time for the richness of Seattle’s Best-and then there were the times you just wanted instant gratification.
‘Mmm, coffee…’
As he set the water to heat, Brook became aware of muffled shuffling noises coming from the living room. He made sure his coffee was well on its way to being made before wandering in that direction, sniffling with blocked sinuses. He stopped in the doorway and turned on the lights.
Beechie. And…Toby. On the floor.
Having sex.
Beechie was lying on his back, Toby’s hands planted on the floor to either side of his head. His arms were wrapped around Toby’s neck and they both were covered by a blanket-‘thankyougodthankyouthankyou’-as they stared up at Brooks.
Who stared back.
And turned the lights back off.
‘Coffee!’ His beleaguered mind wailed. ‘Coffee!’
The water was deemed hot enough and Brooks filled his cup to nearly the brim, concentrating on his task with a single-minded determination that would have put a bloodhound to shame. Precious brew in hand, he beat a hasty retreat back to his room, curling up in bed with the sheet pulled over his head, creating a little tent that soon filled with the aromatic scent of coffee. Briefly, an arm emerged from the blankets to grab and draw in a box of tissues to the happy world of isolated coffee-enjoyment.
‘…they were having sex.’
Brooks’s groan was muffled beneath the pile of sheets.
‘I really hate mornings…’
-