Sunday, June 10th, 2022

The beeping of my alarm sounds as my sleep-numb hands fumble for the 'off' switch. The fluffy being sleeping on the floor next to my bed perks up as I hit it off. He knows what time it is. I pull the blankets off me, get up, and pull them neatly back over my pillow. As I pick out a pair of leggings and a tank top, the dog starts dancing in circles on the floor in excitement.

"Give me two more minutes, Axel."

I look at my German Shepherd with pride and smile. My brother surprised me with him for Christmas last year and I've been working hard in training him ever since. I finish tying my running shoes and flip my hair up into a simple ponytail. My long, dark hair still drapes below my shoulders even in such a high hairstyle. I glance in the mirror as I attempt to massage my face gently in order to wake myself up and to regain a little bit of color. My golden-brown eyes that I share with my brother stare back at me. My mom has always said that I am the spitting image of my father.

I grasp the pendant that hangs around my neck. It was the last thing he ever gave me and I have never taken it off. My heart aches at this thought. Its gold chain is delicate in between my fingers. From it hangs a diamond teardrop. He gave it to me for my tenth birthday. The big "double-digits" as he would refer to it. I sigh as I remember that day. He watched me with the smile that only I share with him. My dark hair, just like his, was shorter then and I wasn't quite as athletic as him yet. A tear escapes my eye's grasp and slides down my cheek. The person whom I remind my mom most of is gone and he's never coming back. I blame myself. If it hadn't been for me, he would have never gone out that day. Never would have driven into the city. Never would have died.

I take one more look in the mirror. My dad saw who I was. He told me I was going to do great things and that I am more than I realize. I've never known who I am or what I am meant to be, but he always seemed to. I don't know what my purpose is or what I am supposed to live for. My brother figured out himself so easily and I am left with only ideas of who I should be. I shake my head at myself. It's pointless.

And with that, I open my door and Axel runs out ahead of me. I chase him downstairs and out the front door to begin our morning run.

♾

I finished running my two daily miles, Axel still in tow next to me. I slow to a jog to cool down and turn back in the direction of my house. I change the song playing in my earphones as I check Axel next to me. He's panting hard, but is loving every second of this. I used to do this every morning with my dad, (of course I was ten, so we didn't run as far) but it became my favorite routine. When he died, I had that hole I had to fill and I stopped doing it. When I got Axel, it made me feel like I had a partner again, even though he's only a dog.

After an hour, I walk through the front door and start to head up the stairs when I'm interrupted by my mom.

"Hey, that you, Bee? I have breakfast in the kitchen."

As if cued to, my stomach grumbles. I groan. I'll have to put off my shower for just a few more minutes. I walk back down the few steps I took and make my way around the corner and into the kitchen where I smell bacon sizzling and eggs frying. There is toast sitting on the counter and orange juice ready to be poured.

"Is this morning a special occasion or something?" I ask curiously. I'm used to coming home and having to make a smoothie because mom will already be at work.

"Does it have to be a special occasion to make my two favorite kids in the whole wide world breakfast?" She smiles at me. I stare back with a skeptical look, not sure whether I'm supposed to smile back or not. Her smile turns to defeat.

"Okay, so I don't have to go into work until noon today, and I had the extra time, so I just figured I'd make breakfast. I feel bad that you've been doing most of the cooking for a while now and I'm always at work..." She sighs as she rubs her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. She's a good actor, so most people don't pick up on it, but I am her daughter. She makes it seem as if our financial situation is fine and that she wants to work double shifts, to keep herself busy instead of necessity. She's exhausted, but only her family can see it.

There are slight bags under her eyes, that she hides well, but it's when she smiles. The light doesn't quite reach her eyes and they are dull. I feel sorry for her. My fathers death may have been six years ago but it's as hard for her today as it was the day he died. He made good money so she didn't have to work much, but now that's changed. She's a nurse that used to work only eight to ten hours a day, five days a week. She was actually able to take weekends off back then. But today is Sunday and she's going to work and probably won't be home till 5:00 in the morning. Times have changed. I really miss my mom.

"It's okay, mom, I really don't mind. I've gotten used to it."

I try to give her a smile to reassure her, but I know it's not enough. I pull her to me and she wraps her arms around me, and I squeeze her tight in another attempt to encourage her. She sniffs and pulls back to wipe her cheek.

"It's all gonna be okay, mom. Everythings gonna be alright."

She nods her head in agreement and gives me her best smile.

"Let me help you." I offer.

We work in silence as she puts the eggs and bacon onto three plates. I butter the toast and pour the juice. I set the toast on the plates and carried them to the table, mom right behind me with the juice. After I got out the silverware, she looked at me gratefully.

"Axel, go get Anthony."

I've been working on this trick for a while now. In the beginning, Axel would just sit and stare at me expectantly. Then he would start to go upstairs, but still come down with nothing. However, the past few mornings, he has actually started to catch on and has actually retrieved Anthony.

At the mention of his new command, Axel runs out of the kitchen and races upstairs. I hear the thump of his paws on the floor above my head and something like a groan followed by a thump. I smile to myself. I think I've finally done it. Promptly two minutes later, Axel scampers downstairs followed by a sleepy Anthony in his wake.

"That was kind of a rude awakening," he says while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "He kisses with tongue." His mousy, brown hair is tousled and his t-shirt wrinkled. His eyes, like mine, are golden brown, but his are different somehow. More studious looking, maybe. He was the smart sibling, wise beyond his years. He was the boy when he was younger that if you gave him a science textbook for his birthday he'd be more than thrilled to read about neutrons and electrons and all the different types of cells in our bodies and why dogs wag their tails.

As we start to eat, mom kicks off the conversation by asking what plans we have for this week.

"Well, I have exams. Our final grades will be in next week." I groan at the thought, but they have to be done.

"I have exams as well as SAT and ACT testing." Grumbles Anthony as he shovels a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"Well, I hope you guys get studied up and in shape. Has Cornell responded to your application yet?"

We both look expectantly at my brother. He looks down at his toast. He shakes his head.

"No, not yet."

Anthony has wanted to be a Veterinarian for as long as I can remember. He was the kid who always cried when a dog died in a movie and the one who basically had a miniature zoo in his room. He had a parrot and a hamster and a hermit crab and a goldfish. Everything. When he found out Cornell is where mom got her MD Degree, he instantly decided that's where he wanted to go too.

Maybe it's in their blood. It seems completely natural for them to help others and to fix things. Anthony has always been caring, or, in other words, a "push-over" is what they'd call him in school. He was so nice to people even if they didn't reciprocate that feeling. He was bullied because of it and I'd find myself more often than not bashing in some other boy's nose, his blood on my hands. Even though I was always proud of myself for protecting my brother, he would always scold me afterwards, telling me I should be nicer to him and that a broken nose wasn't necessary. But when I looked at my brother's broken glasses or busted lip or toilet water soaked hair, I knew it was necessary, whether he thought so or not. If somebody messes with me, that's one matter, but when they mess with my family, that's another.