Dada: Chapter Seven

  "Wake up, sleepy head.  We don't have much time, and we have a lot to do.  Don't make me have to come in there."
   I am banging on my own bedroom door, trying to walk up Sam.  I almost sound like me own mother.  She would give me much the same when I was his age.  Why did I have to bering that up?  After yesterday, I should be trying to avoid her, not try to be like her.
   "What's wrong?" Sam stammers groggily as he slowly opens the door.  "Oh, we have to get ready to go.  Have you already cleaned up?"
   "Yep.  I've been up half-an-hour already.  I used the upstairs bathroom. Now, you clean up a bit, change your clothes, and get ready for breakfast.  It shouldn't take you too long, considering you showered last night."
    "Uh, I usually, uh, you know, use the bathroom in the mornings.  It might take me some time," Sam all but whispers, his voice going deeper than usual, again.
    "Fine.  Just hurry up and try not to clog anything.  I'll be making the bed.  Just make sure you keep the doors closed."
    I'm just glad I didn't have to go in there.  Who knows what embarrassing position I could have caught him in.  Sam walks into the bedroom side door to the master bath.  As soon as I hear the door lock, I rush in to change the sheets on the bed.  I already have a new set ready to go on.  I will have just enough time for one last wash before we leave.  I definitely don't want to have to do all this by the time I, or we, get back.  I'd probably forget all about it.
   "Don't get your PJs dirty.  Just fold them up, and we'll put them in your other things.  No sense to wash them after just one night." I yell through the door.  I hope he hears me.  One less thing to wash.  "Just put anything else dirty outside the hall door, and I'll wash it."
    I gather up the dirty sheets and find both his PJs and his underwear outside the door.    He is not making it easy on me.  He is also probably buck naked in there.  No time to think about it.  I will have just enough time to wash everything.
    It takes me less than ten minutes to start the wash.  As I walk back into the kitchen, there's Sam only in his jeans, struggling to get a polo over his head.
   "Please tell me there aren't any problems in the bathroom.  We don't have time to unclog anything."
   "No.  Everything seems to be okay," Sam says as his head finally pops out through his shirt.  He hair is slightly damp.  So is his face.  I hope he washed up enough.
   "Have you done everything?  Deodorant, teeth, clean underwear.  I don't want you to embarrass yourself once we leave. "
   "All done," Sam quietly piped in.
   "Fine.  I'll start breakfast.  It'll be light.  I still have some milk and fruit that will go bad if we don't use it today.  Sorry, but we only have cereal.  If you need more, we'll have to pick something up later."
   "That'll be okay." he responds, sullenly.
   We barely say a word while we eat.  Sam because his voice is changing, and me because I don't feel like talking.  I am not morning person.  Getting up before five is almost worse on me than it is Sam.  I never feel like myself until seven, at least.  Maybe  if I drank coffee, I would be more of a morning person.  Never drank it, never could.  My mom made sure that I would ever like the stuff.
   After we finish, I send Sam back in to finish his packing while I clean up the few dishes from breakfast.  I have the television on to catch some news before we go.  Nothing major seemed to have happened overnight.  The roads are fairly clear.  There's a change of thunderstorms starting by mid-afternoon, but we should be long gone by the time they get here.
   The last thing I have to do is take out the trash.  Fortunately for me, the garbage pick-up for this street is on Friday mornings.  Unfortunately, it is picked up about six, or so.  I'm usually still asleep, so I can't be sure.  One thing I don't want is having a can full of garbage stinking up the place for a week.  I usually place out the cans the night before, but I put it off until now so I could be sure I got everything.  I still don't see the pint of mandatory recycling.  Forcing people to do something, even for a good cause, is just a problem, not a benefit.  I would much more like to do it on my own, rather than have the city force me to sort it out and fining me if I don't do it correctly.
    I get my cans out easily enough.  I just hope I can find a way to get them back in.  That was the last thing I had to do.  I packed my suitcase last night.  I fixed up the desktop this morning.  The laundry is out of the washer and in the dryer.  All I have left to do is help Sam pack.  And maybe clean up the bathroom a bit.  If he is anything like I was at his age, I might have a lot to to.  I can't help but dread it.