Shady Rest

1. Awakening

My eyes fly open as I awake with a jerk.‭ ‬On my back,‭ ‬I lay in the bed listening for the cause of my rousing.‭ ‬I hear nothing but my own breathing and the‭ “‬bom,‭ ‬bom,‭ ‬bom‭” ‬of my heart..‭ ‬My eyes adjust to the dim light filtering in through the window next to the bed.‭ ‬As I peer outside,‭ ‬the moon has already set,‭ ‬so the only light is from the myriad of stars glittering in the clear dark sky.

‬I sit up and scan the room.‭ ‬The double bed is spacious when sleeping only one.‭ ‬Though the night‭ ‬is dark and clear,‭ ‬the air is warm to the point of being close.‭ ‬The window to my left is propped open by a two foot long piece of two-by-two.‭ ‬The window screen prevents the insects from entering the room but blocks none of the non-existent breeze.‭ ‬Sitting‭ ‬up in the bed,‭ ‬I let slip the single white sheet speckled in an ornate gold flower print and the air has a pleasant cool touch hinting at a time.‭ ‬It won’t be long until dawn brings morning to the sky.‭ ‬The dark paneled walls,‭ ‬white tiled ceiling,‭ ‬and white‭ ‬doors sporting black iron knobs and locks are plain but have a beauty born of utility.‭ ‬The chest and armoire flanking the door in front of the bed,‭ ‬dresser with mirror to my right,‭ ‬and headboard on which I am leaning are painted a pale shade of lime,‭ ‬matching the curtains.

At last,‭ ‬the sound that summoned me out of the land of dreams into the darkness of the bedroom drifts in through the window.‭ ‬The sound confirms my feeling about the time.‭ ‬I now know that it is about‭ ‬half past four in the morning,‭ ‬for that is the time the train comes through.‭ ‬Very faintly,‭ ‬if I concentrate,‭ ‬I can pick out the sounds of the wheels clattering on the tracks.‭ ‬The train’s whistle sounds again,‭ ‬the lonely call echoing off the mountain behind the house and off the ridge on the other side of the valley,‭ ‬sounding as if the night were answering in return its own lonely call.‭ ‬Feeling that all is right with the world,‭ ‬I slip back under the single sheet and drift back to sleep while the train calls and slips further away on its own journey through the clear dark night.

‬Birds chirping and the buzzing of a bee at the window rouse me.‭ ‬As my eyelids part to allow the morning sun’s glow to wake me,‭ ‬the bee gives up on buzzing at the window and zooms off to appealing destinations known only to bees.‭ ‬Yawning,‭ ‬I enjoy the luxurious pleasure of a full body stretch.‭ ‬There is no rush,‭ ‬so I allow my ears to soak up the sounds of activities unseen.‭ ‬I notice that a breeze,‭ ‬unfelt through the open window,‭ ‬has risen in the upper branches of trees outside and set the leaves to whisper softly to each other.‭ ‬As the breeze fades,‭ ‬I can hear a hinge in need of some oiling protesting with a prolonged squeak,‭ ‬immediately followed by a large wooden slat door banging closed.

My ears strain to pick out sounds.‭ ‬I notice someone else is moving in the house,‭ ‬the sounds of footsteps on the hardwood floor.‭ ‬Realizing what this must mean and what is happening at the other end of the house,‭ ‬I sit bolt upright and throw back the covers.‭ ‬I swing my legs to my right,‭ ‬sitting now on the edge of the bed.‭ ‬As my bare feet touch the shiny and smooth brown hardwood boards,‭ ‬the predawn chill having found a home in these‭ ‬boards‭’‬ rushes onto my skin causing me to shiver involuntarily.‭ ‬The unexpected chill bolts up through my legs as it draws a quick breath out of me.‭ ‬In the morning light,‭ ‬I see myself reflected in the dresser mirror to the right of the bed.‭ ‬I am in need of both food and sunshine.

Moving quickly,‭ ‬to avoid undue exposure to the chilly floor,‭ ‬I pull on a t-shirt,‭ ‬slip into my slightly worn and faded blue-jean cut-offs,‭ ‬and don socks and sneakers.‭ ‬For a moment I freeze,‭ ‬listening.‭ ‬The crunch of boots on gravel appears to emanate from both the open window and under the closed door.‭ ‬I tie my sneakers as I hear the boots‭ ‬mount the three concrete steps and cross the wooden porch.‭ ‬As I reach the closed door and turn the black iron knob,‭ ‬the familiar sound of a spring being stretched comes from just beyond.‭ ‬I pull open the door as the boots step up into the hall.‭ ‬Before me stands a man in his late‭ ‬50‭’‬s,‭ ‬wearing a white shirt under blue denim overalls and clad in brown high-topped work boots.‭ ‬The man’s face is kindly and a bit‭ ‬serene‭;‬ his hair is dark with a dusting of white as are the whiskers on his firm jaw and chin.‭ ‬As he steps into the short hallway from the porch,‭ ‬he spots me coming out of the bedroom.‭ ‬Lifting his right arm,‭ ‬I slip into a one-arm hug.

“Good morning.‭ ‬D’you sleep well‭?” ‬GranDad,‭ ‬asks,‭ ‬his face breaking into a wide smile as he looks down at me.

Catching scents of hay,‭ ‬potatoes,‭ ‬tobacco,‭ ‬and the bleach from his shirt,‭ ‬I return the hug with two arms and reply,‭ “‬Yes,‭ ‬sir.‭”

“You hungry‭?”

“Yes,‭ ‬sir‭!”

He says,‭ “‬I reckon breakfast is about ready.‭ ‬Come on.‭”

With that,‭ ‬he releases me from the hug,‭ ‬turns to his‭ ‬left and opens another white wooden door like the one which I exited.‭ ‬Following him,‭ ‬we walk into the den.

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Next: Chapter 2: The House