I remained in a half awake, half asleep state for what felt like an eternity. For someone with a creative mind, I suppose I never put it to very good use. My gaze rotated from watching the ceiling fan spin around, eyeing the secondhand on my wall clock, and watching the tail of my window curtains wave back and forth from the waft of cool air coming out of the lone floor vent in my bedroom.
As if a bell was ringing in the voice of my sister’s boisterous larynx, I heard “Dinner!” My sister had far and away the loudest voice of the family. I wonder now, if she had learned to articulate it in a more pleasing fashion, could she have learned to sing opera, because she certainly had the range.
I made my way down the stairs, counting each one twice. Thirteen. I suppose we all suffer from some extent of triskaidekaphobia, since it exists in the minds of many. I always wondered why elevator manufacturers shied away from using the number 13. Yuck, I instantly caught a whiff of the meatloaf. My absolutely least favorite meal.
“It’s about time you made it.”
I said nothing in reply, but my dad looked carving knives right through me. You could tell he was short on patience tonight, but it didn’t faze me. I grabbed the ketchup and squirted it all over my portion, making sure that the amount of catsup would outnumber the amount of meat I had to consume in each bite.
To be continued…