The day had just started when I got up. It was so beautiful outside since it was the late spring. The bright yellow sun is shining high with no clouds hiding it. Birds are chirping happily outside of my window. My room is the same as last night which made me sigh with relief. The nightmare was not even real; it was just a stupid dream. I breathed in and out. I could smell breakfast in the kitchen just from sitting on the maroon-sheeted bed.
Mother! I pulled on a big grin. She is making her homemade omelet on the tiny black oven. I move my feet to the side of the bed and touch the floor with my toes. I was expecting to be a little shorter, but I find out I grew overnight. I gave out a little laugh at myself. Quickly as I could, I got into my black slacks. Then I put on the white button-down shirt and started working at it. Next, I put on shoes that my mother had out for me. Finally, I went to the bathroom to brush my bronze hair with one swipe from the hand. Mom calls my name and I dash out to greet her. Mom is still the same as before with her lovely brown hair and hazel eyes. The nightmare was still lurking through my mind sending an image of her being deathly ill, but I ignored it.
"Edward," Mom says smiling when I look up to her by the doorway, "guess what day it is today?"
Thinking intently while walking to the kitchen table I say, "Tuesday?"
Mom looks at me with a smile and says "Yes, but today is a special day."
I could see through her eyes to her mind that she wasn't kidding. Furrowing my eyebrows, I kept thinking anyway. She seems so excited that she couldn't keep it in: "It's you seventeenth birthday!", Mom says jumping with her white dress bouncing up and down. I gave out a slight chuckle on just how joyful this day became. Without one more word, she put the plate of an omelet on the round wooden table. Just for the fun of it, I inhaled it wildly catching the smells of onion, cheese, tomato, and chunks of little cubed hams. I felt Mom was staring at me, so I hurried it up on the breakfast.
She was still smiling at me which I could tell that she needs all the company she can get after I go to the schoolhouse. I got up from the chair and hugged her respectively to assure her that it will be alright. I could hear the soft sounds of her sobbing. Of course she is full of sorrow that my father, Edward Masen Sr. was dead from the infamous "Great War" going around. It is not exceptional for both of us to think about it so I kept quiet until Mom was done crying.
Mom utters a soft thank you. I roll my eyes, accepting the torture of going through the pain. If anything became so much of a loss for me, it would never come down to tearing up. My father told me when I was a whole lot younger that if a man to cry, it would have to be hidden. I understood it perfectly and kept practicing until I perfected it.
Mom still had the tears streaming down her face. I took the favor into wiping them away. Mom giggles and puts on a grin. She brushes her hair away from her eyes since it has fallen slightly over the front of her face. She says something, but I didn't catch a trace of it and says it again louder, "Edward, please go to school and not worry about me. I'll be fine. I already packed your lunch."
I shake my head because I don't want to lose her like Dad. Mom let out a big sigh of stress. She pulls away from the hug to cross her arms to give me that don't-you-get-stubborn-with-me look. I know where I have been beaten. Slyly, I kissed her cheek and ran out the door as fast as I could. School was a block away, so walking was the best thing in Chicago rather than driving those new black Fords. My parents couldn't buy any. Dad was busy mining and Mom was still working at that crummy textile factory six blocks from our house. Both were working hard enough to pay for food and house insurance. Mainly, there are starting to become a lot more people becoming ill from the disease roaming around. More victims had to go to the hospital to die since there was no treatment yet. Hopefully Mom and I don't get it….
The schoolhouse was getting closer as I continue walking. It seemed dead to me since there is usually little kids to teens outside hanging out in groups, but nobody was out. I open the door; it creaks loudly making me cringe. Mrs. Carlson is waiting at her desk looking at her agenda. It seemed she was just trying to ignore the fact that there was a large absence in the classroom. I look around to see if anyone was here. Thankfully, about three hundred out of five hundred students were here. I let out a sigh of relief.
My grade was near the back of the room which there were thirty people all in all. I kind felt sorry for the twelfth graders, but I was content enough that I wasn't one of them. I sat down with my grade. Waiting for the teacher, I start playing my little game of reading people's minds