I remember that the day everything fell apart started out like any other.
The ear-splitting wail of the alarm clock in Miles' office woke me up at 5:30 a.m. and I groaned as I sat up in my sleeping bag. I could see Miles' faint outline in the sleeping bag on the other side of the room, and I smiled at the way he could sleep through any noise. I stood and tiptoed my way past the short stacks of papers that Miles had arranged around his side of the room, and lifted our empty mugs from his cluttered desk. It was time to make coffee.
Our morning ritual was always coffee together before I left for school. Ever since Miles and I moved out from Georgia to New York City for his work, we'd had to scrimp and pinch wherever we could to make ends meet. We lived out of Miles' tiny law office in Manhattan, hiding the sleeping bags inside the closet during business hours. Coffee in the mornings seemed to be Miles' way of reminding me that we could still feel at home in New York, even if only for a few minutes each day.
I filled our mugs from the sink in the adjoining bathroom, and then placed them inside the microwave on Miles' desk, setting the timer for two minutes. During the day, the microwave was kept under the desk and out of sight; but at the moment, it was mine to command. I took the sack of ground coffee from inside the desk's top drawer and inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of the rich, dark powder. Coffee was, and still is, the best-smelling substance I know.
As soon as the microwave's timer dinged, I removed the mugs and measured a level spoonful of ground coffee into each one. We never used coffee filters; since neither of us much minded a few coffee grounds, a little extra caffeine at the bottom of our mugs. Looking back on it, I don't know how I would have survived a day of high school without my morning jolt of caffeine-induced energy.
Miles woke up then, as always, to the smell of coffee. He blinked the sleep from his tired eyes and smiled at me before fumbling around his sleeping bag for his glasses. I smiled back in amusement.
"They're on your other side," I told him, "Right next to the amicus brief you were highlighting last night."
He nodded his thanks as he found his thick, black-framed glasses, and then placed them carefully on his face. Then he peered intently into my face.
"Ah, now I can see you. Good grief, James, you must've had an interesting dream."
"Why's that?" I asked as I handed him his mug and sat down cross-legged next to his sleeping bag.
"Your hair", he answered with a half-smile, "Your hair seems to have been battling dragons all night long."
He reached out with his free hand and absently ruffled my unruly brown mop.
"There", he nodded, satisfied.
"That neatened it up?" I asked with a grin, which he returned.
"Not at all. I merely distributed the mess a little more evenly."
"Sounds about normal, then", I sighed, resigned to my fate.
I had given up on my hair a long time ago. As long as I could cover it with a hat, I looked decent enough for school. It wasn't like girls were going to look at me twice anyway.
Miles raised an eyebrow at me in amusement, and then cupped both hands around his mug to warm them. He sighed as he sipped his coffee, closing his eyes to savor it and letting his shoulders drop as he relaxed. If I loved coffee, he worshipped it. I sipped some of my own and let him lose himself in silence for a few minutes, enjoying his company without really realizing it at the time. I never felt like I needed to say anything around Miles.
He looked up from his half-drained mug with a more focused gleam in his grey eyes.
"Good coffee, this", he nodded approvingly.
I shrugged. He said it every morning, and would probably say it if I handed him a mug of coal tar one morning instead of coffee. When you drink the stuff black the way Miles does, I doubt there's any real difference in flavor between the two. Approving the coffee was just his way of signaling that he was now awake enough for conversation.
"So how late are you opening, Miles?" I asked.
Most days Miles kept office hours until 6:00 p.m. so that we could have dinner together, but he was in the middle of a big case, which usually meant interviewing a lot of witnesses, which usually meant closing shop at 7:00 or later.
"Not too late", he reassured me. "It's a big case, but a pretty straightforward one. The press will have a field day with this one either way it's decided; but thankfully, we have our ways to avoid them."
He grinned mischievously at me, his dark brows dancing on his pale face. I grinned back, knowing that Miles was nowhere near famous enough as a lawyer to gain the attention of reporters. He knew it too, but he found a certain wry humor in it.
He gazed at the empty coffee mug in his hands wistfully, and then stood up reluctantly from his warm sleeping bag.
"So what are your plans for today, James?" he asked in a more business-like tone.
I stood up with him and grimaced as I envisioned the day ahead at school. It was only February, but I'd been ready for the school year to end since Christmas.
"The usual", I answered. "Sit through class and take the dumb quizzes to prove I actually know stuff, then get pounded by the jocks because I make them look bad by actually knowing stuff, then go change into my janitor's uniform and muck around in a job where I don't need to use the stuff I actually know."
Miles had patiently listened to my complaining tirade, his left eyebrow raising a little. I was pretty good at complaining, and he was pretty good at listening.
He took my empty mug as he shook his head at me.
"James, James, James. You do have quite a cynical view of the world for your age."
"I'm seventeen, Miles", I countered, "Old enough to know that it's ugly out there, and young enough to be allowed to complain without doing anything to fix it."
He fastened those grey eyes onto mine, amused but with a wariness behind them. Seeing the dark circles under them, harsh in the pale light of a winter morning, I remembered how hard he had it and how little he complained. I looked away and firmed my lip. If he could get through it, I could get through it. At least for today.
I threw on some jeans over my shorts and reached for my backpack from where it lay by the door. Miles' black windbreaker was draped across it, so I picked it up and put it on. Due to a recent growth spurt, I had outgrown the arms on my own jacket a couple of weeks back, and it seemed kind of pointless to get a new one when Miles apparently didn't mind his being on permanent loan.
"See ya, Miles", I called back towards him as I opened the door.
