HAVE A NICE DAY

It is a cold day in May when I wake, knowing today will be unique. The sun is orangey red as it forces its weight thru a bluish gray sky. Bands of white look like jail bars. They touch the earth. As the wind grows stronger, the bars slant, rise towards the sun and become rays of sunshine on the early school buses as they pass my house.

But where are the children, their faces plastered to the windows, their arms waving goodbye to their mom’s, their yelping dogs? Bus #3 slows down then #4. No red brake lights come on, no yellow ‘Stop! Children crossing’ signs drop down. ‘John, John, get up!’ I shake him. ‘Get up now. Something is wrong. Quick, come look!’ John rolls over, refuses to give up the extra ½ hour he has before he has to get to work. I prod him again. He pushes back his blanket, goes to shower, rush thru breakfast, tweak my tush.

The buses are gone. The sky is yellow, the sun purple. This is crazy. The world is insane. By now the morning paper should be in our driveway. It isn’t. It must be under the car again. It isn’t. Where is John’s car. Where is John? I look in the bathroom and do not find him. ‘John, get out of bed.. Get up now. Something crazy is happening. Get up.’ John doesn’t move. I go over close, shake him. He is cold and gray, made out of clay.

The sun comes in my window, bright, a regular yellow white sun that smiles to me. I hear a clanking noise, like an alarm, a signal. Someone is opening my door. ‘Who’s there? Don’t come in. I’m not dressed yet.’ The knob turns. In walks a fat lady carrying a tray. On it is a bud vase with a single red rose, a coffee pot that feels hot even though I haven’t yet touched it. A small pitcher of green milk and a large bowl of Post Toasties, topped with sliced bananas tempt me. She puts it all on the table and tells me to enjoy my breakfast. But first she tells me to sit down, swallow two black pills with my orange juice. Before I can get to my cereal, she asks me to put out my arm and I do it for her. The fat lady quickly sticks a needle close to where my old vaccination mark is still visible. She puts a small piece of cotton over the bleeding hole and tapes it on.

‘O.K., Miss Sunshine. Be good today. Eat all your breakfast. Warm toast is under your napkin. See you later.’ She glances in my mirror as she heads towards the door, straightens her white cap, smooths her crisp, spotless white uniform and closes my door. I drink the green milk, pour the hot coffee on my Post Toasties, walk over to the window to see what color the sun is today.

I love it. It is green just like my glass of milk!