Without fail, I always wake up before my alarm clock goes off. Perhaps, I’m just that anxious of a person or I’m made to be an early bird by birth. Either way, it’s mad annoying, because once my eyes are open I can’t get them shut again, no matter how sleepy I am. Besides me being wired like a rooster, the only other people up in the house are my parents. They believe in seizing the day, very productive folks, I’m trying to get like them lowkey.
My morning routine is fairly simple.
First, I lay in bed, staring at my ceiling blankly until my alarm rings. A growing girl like me has to buffer. I can’t just spring into action like a soldier all willy-nilly. After my brain is done buffering at a snail’s pace, I beeline for the bathroom. We only have three bathrooms; ensuite in the master bedroom, the downstairs one by the staircase, and the upstairs one in the center of the hall. Upstairs was usually a warzone between my siblings and me as it’s the closest.
There’s seven of us Ballard kids in total. I’m the unfortunate middle child. I used to share a room with Ivy before she became a passport princess, and jumped in joy that I’d have my own personal space while the rest begrudgingly bunked up.
Needless to say, yay for being the envy of my siblings who had to endure the sharing is caring motto! Nay, for remembering nightlights are a must when alone in the shadowy darkness with no backup from your braver cooler older sister. The cost of independence was a steep one.
Honestly though, there’s nothing like taking a hot steamy shower for as long as you want when everyone else is Sleeping Beauty. School doesn’t begin until two hours from now, which is the exact amount of time I need to mentally prepare for another grueling day of institutionalized learning. Regardless of my stellar grades, I’m not smart enough to test out early like Izzy did. Boohoo, woe is me, these growing pains got me in a chokehold.
However, to be fair, I quite enjoy being scholarly for the sheer fun of it, as I soak in knowledge like an eager sponge. It’d just be nice if I could, I don’t know, be taught subjects that have captured my entire interest. Instead, I have to filter through a bunch of social media posts to be on the up and up on the ever-changing Planet Earth. Ugh, enough about school talk before I get depressed.
Hmm, where were we? Aw, yes, I remember now. I’m getting ready!
Finishing up with showering, my pores all open and freshly clean, I wash my face with African black soap, slap on some witch hazel, and dab on some almond oil for peak moisture. Dried off and lotioned up, I began to style my hair. It is a doozy since I have so much of it and it's so thick despite being fluffy soft. If not for my curly and coily hair, these biceps of mine would be flimsy noodles than lean muscle.
Armed with the power of a wide tooth comb, my trusty spray bottle of water, and a bottle of leave-in conditioner, I refresh my withered strands to their destined state of bounce and shine. I should do a praise dance because I just performed a miracle!
Not often does one feel cute, but I couldn’t stop checking myself out in the mirror with my big afro halo-ing my head. When you look good, you feel good. I felt good, so I had to celebrate the fleeting moment. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a maniac for vanity, and I’m more than a supposedly pretty face. This is a part of my daily ritual, precisely my training, to mold my self-esteem.
Remember, I told you about becoming an artist? Ahem, excuse me, I meant to say that I am an artist. An artist who lacks pride in everything she does. Welp, I figured complimenting myself would be a splendid starting point. The little things ya do will eventually get a bigger role in the whole picture, at least I hope.
Pray for me y’all. I’m trying.
The last hurdle to conclude my routine was putting on my school uniform. I attended Pinecrest Prep. A private high school with a shockingly diverse student population. We had all ethnicities as long as appearances were kept, alumni donated handsomely, and students stayed getting into prestigious universities due to our tough curriculum and vetting system.
All my older siblings went there; Ivy, Izzy, Ian. All my younger siblings would go there too.
The other option within zoning regulations was the neighboring school, three towns over, Pinewood High. A public school with not that great of a reputation. They fight for three days straight and box teachers over there. My mom went to Pinewood as a kid and doesn’t recommend any of her children go for safety reasons, obviously.
She constantly declared ‘ya’ll ain’t built for all that drama’ any time she heard what her alma mater was getting into, hastily signing the check for Pinecrest Prep’s tuition fees. She didn’t have to tell me twice, I hate violence to the nth degree. It’s for the best.
Putting on my typical uniform of a white polo shirt, plaid skirt, chunky baby doll platform shoes, and knee-high socks, I marched to the kitchen where Daddy and Mom resided. Daddy was manning the stove and plating food while Mom drank pitch black coffee at the head of the table. I took my seat and scarfed down my meal like a vortex was in the pit of my stomach. Is it just me who wakes up naturally famished or am I just greedy?
“Slow down before you cough up a lung, Irene.” Mom gave a stern warning, looking neat, classy and professional. She had to leave for her appointment soon. She’s a very busy, very sought after therapist in our neck of the woods.
“Yes ma’am.” I obeyed, chewing moderately, savoring the flavors instead.
“Can’t believe how time flies. It’s the last day of school already.” Daddy had that sentimental tenor escaping his lips and dramatically wiped a lone tear from his eye. “You were just a knee-baby ‘bout one minute ago. Blinked my eyes and now you’re going to be an upcoming junior this year.”
“Puh-lease, Daddy, let summer officially start and not the premature waterworks. OK?” He’s where I get my sensitivity from.
I watched as he peppered Mom’s forehead and cheeks with endearing kisses that had her grinning ear to ear. He’s mega affectionate when it comes to his kinfolk, especially with Mom, his dream-girl. Outside looking in, Mom would be considered brutally cold to her husband, but in reality she’s just super shy, even as a grown woman.
That was the funny inside joke of our tight-knit family, how Mom spent more than two decades with Daddy in Holy Matrimony and still acted as though she was the nerdy unwanted girl while he was the admired chased-after jock. That’s a hilarious story-time for later on.
Cleaned plate. Belly full. I was gassed up and revving to go. “Alright, I’m off to meet up with Nova and them.”
As I put the dishes in the sink, they both shared a quizzical look. “Leaving so soon? Hasn’t Nova been picking you up in her brand new set of wheels these past couple of weeks?”
“Her sweet sixteenth was pricier than some weddings.”
“She’s grounded.” I responded, snatching up my backpack. “Her folks found out she had two boys fighting for her honor gladiator-style. I’m not saying she instigated it, but I’m also not saying she’s completely innocent in the matter. See what I’m saying?”
They shook their heads at the info, not because they didn’t catch what I was throwing, but because Nova was always getting into a messy situation. She and I had major history. All the way back to pre-k. We’re practically sisters from different misters and we stayed glued to each other’s sides. I was the sweet to her sour. Bidding my parents farewell, I made my exit.
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