Coming in 2016
“Freedom is the open window through which pours the sunlight of the human spirit…”
Herbert Hoover, the 31st President, once said this, and I find myself thinking about it from time to time. I find myself thinking about it as I wake up each morning, bathed in the light from the sunrise I see from my bedroom window.
I’ve recently gotten into the habit of setting an alarm for about fifteen minutes before the sun rises so I can wake up, sit in my bed, stare out the window, and watch the beginning of each new day as if it might be my last.
Each time you watch the sunrise, you never know if it’s going to be the last time you do it, so why not enjoy it?
After I watch the sunrise, I climb out of bed, get dressed, and go downstairs to brew a pot of coffee. I’ve always been a fan of coffee, but I never appreciated it as much until I stopped buying it from chain diners and started brewing my own each and every morning. It doesn’t even matter what brand it is as long as I make it myself.
While the coffee’s brewing, I walk outside, pick up the newspaper, and browse through it for anything interesting. However, most days the news is all doom and gloom, so I usually don’t stop browsing until I reach the funny pages. I’ve loved reading the comics since I was a kid, and even though I’m grown now, I still can’t get enough of that talking cat and dog that can’t seem to get along.
I can smell the coffee coming closer to being ready, so I fold up the paper, tuck it under my arm, and make my way back to the kitchen.
I pass a man sitting in my living room with a shaggy Mohawk, a black t-shirt, and tight, grey jeans on, but when I close my eyes really tight, he’s no longer there. I want him gone, so I make him gone. I wonder for a second if I’m going crazy, but I know crazy people don’t actually question their own sanity, so I must be okay.
Back in the kitchen, I remove the coffee pot from the warmer and pour myself a cup. I can never decide if I want to drink it black or add cream and sugar, so I compromise and just add cream. I drink my coffee this way every day, but I always stop to consider if I should change it up before drinking it.
Through the window over the sink, I see my parents strolling through the back yard with my younger brother, Kip.
Kip’s almost fifteen now, but to look at him you’d think he was old enough to drive, maybe even vote. In the back yard, he takes a drink from a bottle of water while my parents hold hands. I never stop to wonder why they’re awake so early and just strolling through the yard like it’s a park.
When I turn away from the window, Riley is standing there, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, but not in an angry way. She takes a drink from my coffee, smiles, and kisses me on the cheek as I walk past.
There’s a knock at the front door, and I open it with a smile on my face. He stops by at the same time every day, and it’s probably the happiest I am all day long, even after watching the sun rise.
Airic stands in front of me, holding a skateboard. He says he’s taking up skateboarding because there’s nowhere to surf in Indiana. We share a laugh, but he does not come inside.
I hear a ringing in my ears, the kind of ringing you hear when you know a really bad headache is coming up on you. The headache hasn’t arrived yet, but I know it’s coming, and I press my palm to my forehead as if this will help fend it off.
“You okay?” Airic, Riley, and Ford ask simultaneously. Ford is standing with them now, smiling, though his clothes are charred and he has smut smeared across his face.
“You okay?” Gabe asks just off synch with the others.
I turn to see him standing next to me. He takes my coffee mug from my hand and downs the entire contents as if they’re a shot of Jack. He hands the mug back to me and smiles the way only Gabe Malvado can smile.
I turn back towards the kitchen to get more coffee, only slightly annoyed, but it now sits at the end of a very long hallway, a hallway so long I think it might never actually end.
Riley stands in the kitchen, and I think she’s crying, but she’s so far away I can’t tell for sure.
I turn back to Airic, but he’s no longer standing outside the front door. Instead, he sits slumped against it, his head sagging to one side, blood splattered across his face, his shirt, and the door behind him. Blood drips from his mouth, and his arms lay limp at his sides as if he’s questioning why he has to sit in this ridiculous position, pretending to be dead.
Fords sits on the couch, almost unrecognizable from the burns covering all of his exposed skin. His clothes are marginally more burned than they were moments before, and smoke pours from them as if they’re still burning.
The room begins to shake, but not like there’s an earthquake. The shaking is more like when an old movie is almost over and the film is about to come off the projector.
This movie is almost over.
I look to Gabe, because he is the only one left in the room with me, but he’s still smiling that stupid Gabe Malvado smile. He looks at me, amused, and simply says, “Wake up.”
Every morning, I jolt awake from the same dream, lying on my cot, my blanket about four inches too short to cover my feet. The room is dark, and my bunkmate snores loudly, letting me know it’s not quite time to really be awake.
I close my eyes and try to fall back to sleep for however much longer I have until the guard comes past, yelling “Wake up! Wake up! Rise and shine! Chow’s in ten minutes!”
Trying to fall back to sleep is no use, so I lay awake thinking about a quote from the 31st President, Herbert Hoover: “Freedom is the open window through which pours the sunlight of the human spirit…”
Sometimes I think about the quote for hours at a time; I read it in a book somewhere. But I always come to the same conclusion: my prison cell doesn’t have a window.
(About the Author)
Christopher Waltz grew up in Columbus, Indiana and has had a passion for writing since penning (and illustrating) a sequel to the movie Jumanji at age eight. Some of his influences range from authors Stephen Chbosky and Chuck Palahniuk, to his high school journalism teacher, Kim Green.
He graduated with a bachelor’s degree in Secondary Education from Indiana University in 2011 and currently lives in Indianapolis with his pit-bull, Theo, and is currently working on the finale to the Ivy League Trilogy: Loose Ends.
He has still never used or sold drugs in his life.
Old Habits Page 28