I woke up half an hour past my alarm this morning, as usual.
Next to me was my dog Bebe snuggled in the crevice of my armpit, as usual. I dragged my ass, literally, up from bed and failed to wake my little sister up for school. She turned off her third alarm eventually and murmured, with eyes half closed, “I hate you, you never remember to wake me up.” Then she proceeds to urinate in the bathroom as I brush my teeth, as if it was some kind of punishment for my, albeit unintentional, forgetfulness.
I wore the outfit I contrived in last night’s pre-sleep ritual. I was deciding between my Hunter rain boots or beat-up suede ankle booties (for the sake of fashion) and asked my little sister for a second opinion; she asks me what she should wear today in return. I walked out of my room in my shiny burgundy Hunter boots; she’s still in her racerback tank and jeans.
In the kitchen, I see my mom wrapped up the Cajun-marinated chicken breasts she grilled this morning in aluminum foil; next to it was a ziplock bag of steamed broccoli and cherry tomatoes, both laying on the island. I grabbed my lunch for the day. My mom also made a breakfast sandwich for me and my little sister. It was layered as so: toasted Italian bread, two slices of muenster cheese, a fried egg, and…15 slices of ham. I was running late for work so I quickly grabbed my breakfast for the day. “Bye Haw Ga Yun!” I yelled as I jotted out the house. It’s pouring out, but warm. And I just received a flood warning on my iPhone. Hunter boots were a good choice.
I made my bus today, not my usual luck since I almost always miss it by one minute. I sat down toward the back and texted my two sisters: “Why does mom always stack like 15 slices of ham in sandwiches…” The thought made me nauseous. And my older sister, who no longer lives with us, texted us back: “Lol I miss mom’s sandwiches.” To which I promptly put down my phone, smiled immensely, and ate my mom’s meaty sandwich.
Because one day, I will miss how she stacks 15 slices of ham in her warm sandwiches.
I love you mom.