FIRST LIGHT

I am at St. George Island, Florida. The sun is coming up. My step son Jody is asleep on a pull out sofa. The living room is darkly lit and quiet. I tip toe in and wake him. His little cheeks are puffy from being fast asleep. I give him a hug and tell him to look outside. The sun is sneaking its way out of the ocean. He sees it. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks over at me and smiles. The sun is a quarter of the way out, winking at us.
The ocean rushes toward us inside the safety of our glass bay windows and French doors. The walls are white, beachy pictures painted by local artists hang on the walls. Jody leans back against me and yawns. I rub his short stubby Forrest Gump haircut. ‘It is the hairstyle he wanted.’ He leans against me and I feel for the first time like his father. We watch as the sun moves three quarters of the way out of the water.
The floor is cold and I cover us under one of the many blankets on his bed. He is quiet and warm. Goose-flesh spring up on his arms as he adjusts to the covers. We are connected. Not by blood or flesh, but by the sheer beauty of watching the sun float above the sea at St. George Island, Florida. We wait and watch as it ascends to start our new day.
Tomorrow we will watch daybreak again, nothing can duplicate this first time and we understand this, but what fun to look back and remember what that sunrise meant to a couple of Cancerians sitting under a blanket bonded together forever by a love of sand, waves and daylight.

Fight


“I own and I control and I’ve the papers to prove it!” I am in the kitchen beside mom. Dad has his back to us, arms outstretched. He is wagging his ass back and forth, mocking us.
Mom grabs a plate and throws it, just missing his left ear. The plate smashes against the cabinet. He whirls around. “You stupid fucking bitch! You could’ve hit me.”
This time a glass smashes at his bare feet. Glass goes all over the floor. He does a quick hop-skip and lands on a jagged shard. “Ouch! God damn it!” he raises his right foot up and turns it sideways. Blood trickles down.
The phone rings. We all freeze not knowing what to do.
“J.R. go get your dad his shoes out of the living room. Then get the broom out of the closet for me.” Mom said.
I go to the living room. She gets the phone, which hangs in the kitchen. I hand dad his shoes, he is red faced and angry. I do not look him in the eye.
“Hello?” She clears choked back tears from her throat. She clears her throat again. “Oh, nothing, just watching T.V.” she turns and surveys the room. Dad hops on one shoe to the sink. He tears off a few paper towels and dabs at his foot. He snaps his finger at her.
“Who is it?” He said. Furrowing his brow and screwing up his face to show his disgust at mom’s calm voice and at the person on the other end of the phone.
I am thankful for whoever it is as I bring the broom in and push it against my mom trying to get her attention. I need so many things right now, a hug, a self-assuring word, an understanding look, anything. Nothing comes.
“Ruth!” she mouths the word without making a sound. Dad rolls his eyes and hops down the hall.
“Okay, well thank you and we’ll see you tonight. Good bye.”
She hangs up and exhales for a long time. “Damn that woman will talk your ear off if you let her. Thanks for the broom. Go see if daddy needs any help in the bathroom.” I walk away as she sweeps the glass into a pile.
I pick up a couple pieces of glass before she can say anything. It slices my hand. There is too much blood. I do not remember what happened after that, but I still have a two-inch scar on my left palm, from the cut and subsequent stitches.

BIG HILL


At the top of Big Hill, overlooking all of the animal houses below lives a proud rooster, named Mr. Rooster. Mr. Rooster is very tall, with wide shoulders, and big red feathers. He has small eyes, long yellow nails, a beak longer than a banana, and a voice louder than a lion’s roar.
Every morning before the sun comes up; Mr. Rooster climbs to the top of his glass house and yells at the top of his lungs, “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” He grins, waits, and listens.
All the animals in the valley below, for three miles around Big Hill, sit straight up. The animal children cry out in terror. The animal parents hate waking up afraid and in tears to that terrible sound. The cries of the young children and babies are music to Mr. Rooster’s ears. All of the animals live in fear. All except one.
Monk Monk, the mouse, lives in a large brick home at the bottom of Big Hill. A family of gophers built her a seven-hundred-brick, twenty-nine room house, six months ago. Monk Monk is never afraid inside of her house. She never hears pesky Mr. Rooster. She sleeps under a quilt next to the fireplace, dreaming of cheese. Monk Monk is grey all over, with a little pink nose, long black whiskers, and the largest brown eyes anyone has ever seen, on a mouse. She is kind to everyone she meets.
The rest of the animals hear Mr. Rooster every morning. The children sing a song at school on the playground. “Mr. Rooster, go back to bed; it’s four o’clock; I’m a sleepy head.” The moms send letters to Mr. Rooster, “Dear Mr. Rooster. Stop scaring us.” The dads talk about doing something. “What can we do?” “I don’t know.” “What do you think?” Mr. Rooster does not care that he is hated and feared, in fact, he likes watching the men talk, he enjoys reading the letters, and he loves hearing the song from his house at the top of Big Hill.
Mr. Rooster’s house is always spotless. After he finishes listening to the animal screams, he cleans his glass house. It takes him seven hours to climb and clean his walls and ceiling. He takes three hours to clean the floor. First, he sweeps with a push broom. Then, he mops the floor with water hot enough to blister his skin, if he ever spilled it, which he never does. He goes outside to eat lunch, rain or shine. Exactly one hour later, he comes back in and does laundry. He never sleeps under the covers, always on top, but he washes his bedclothes everyday. The last four hours of every day, he spends spying on his neighbors through a telescope.
Mr. Rooster watches as the Otter family eat dinner, talking and chewing at the same time. He watches the animal children at play outside. They sweat, shout, and make mud pies. He watches possums giving Eskimo kisses to their mommas, butterflies giving butterfly kisses, and puppies licking each other’s faces. He goes to bed angry at the animals and their snot nosed brats.
Waking up earlier than normal, Mr. Rooster gets up, showers, dresses, and heads to the roof. He takes a glass of hot salt water and lemon juice to prepare his voice for action. Mr. Rooster gargles, clears his throat, and screams, “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!” Mr. Rooster hears the animals scream from ten miles away. It is the loudest cock-a-doodle-doo anyone has ever heard.
Something breaks under Mr. Rooster’s feet as he stands laughing at the chaos he is causing. This break, leads to cracks, which lead to splinters, until the glass house looks like a spider web of broken glass.
Mr. Rooster does not move, fearing that if he flinches, the whole glass palace will fall. Flapping his wings hard, he jumps off the glass house. He cannot fly well, but well enough to keep from hurting himself. One red feather falls from his back as he flaps. The feather flips and flops down to the glass house. CRASH!!!!! The whole house falls to the ground.
Monk Monk the mouse sits quiet. She does not hear the crash at the top of Big Hill. She is safe and warm, under a blanket, reading a book about cheese, by a roaring fire. Her favorite cheese is feta, but the Monterey jack she is looking at makes her soul happy. A knock at the door awakens her from her daydream, hungry. She unlocks and opens her big red door.
“Mr. Rooster.” She says smiling, her eyes as big as moons as she stares waiting for his response. In the past, Mr. Rooster had never sent so much as a thank you note when she sent him pile of corn for Christmas two years ago, and now out of the blue he is at her front door.
The red feathers on top of Mr. Roosters head bounce as he speaks. “Hello, Miss Monk, you have a problem my dear,” not waiting for her to speak he continues. “My glass house is being fixed, your house is as far as I can tell the biggest,” again he does not pause. “Get out.” He said.
“What?” Monk Monk said. This is all she could think to say.
“Get out! I said. My home will take three months to fix. When it is done you can come back. Now leave!” Mr. Rooster said while pushing his beak inside the door.
“Where will I go?” She said, beginning to cry and still not understanding.
“I don’t care. Just leave at once. Surely, you have family you can stay with,” Not waiting for her to answer, he reaches his claw in grabs Monk Monk by her foot, holds her upside down, and he tosses her out of her home. He slams her red door not looking back.
A light rain falls as Monk Monk leaves her yard sobbing. She is trying to decide how she will get her house back. She goes to see Officer Owl.
“Mr. Rooster has taken my house. Will you help me get it back?”
“Mr. Rooster. Why would he want your house?” Officer Owl said.
“He said, because it was the biggest house in Big Hill.”
“Why not let him keep it? Wouldn’t it be easier to let him have it?”
“Officer Owl I need my house, it’s the only place that I feel safe.” Monk Monk begins to cry.
Officer Owl taps on the big red door. “Mr. Rooster, come out of Miss Monk’s house in the name of the law.”
Mr. Rooster crows nastily as he opens the door. “Who will make me?” not waiting for an answer he says, “I will not leave in anybodies name! This house was a gift to me from my dear friend, Miss Monk.”
Mr. Rooster pulls out a piece of paper, where the words, ‘Mr. Rooster may live in my house for three months while his house is being rebuilt. Best Wishes, Miss Monk’, was carved into the bottom of the letter.
“I didn’t write that.” Monk Monk said.
“Well the law is on his side.” Officer Owl said. He was happy that he did not have to argue with the scary rooster.
“What do you mean?” Monk Monk said.
“Well Miss it is my job to inform you that he can stay.”
“What can I do Officer Owl? I didn’t write that note and you know it.”
“Don’t be telling me what I know, and what I don’t. Do you know Mrs. Snake?”
“No.”
“Well, she’s a lawyer, which is what you need. The only way to get your house back is to prove to a judge that you didn’t write that letter, and you’ll need to go see Mrs. Snake and ask her to do just that.”
“But don’t snakes eat mice?”
“Not if the price is right, besides Owls eat mice too.” Officer Owl grew larger and spread his wings. “Good day Miss Monk.” Monk runs away from Officer Owl as fast as she can. Monk Monk enters Ms. Snake’s cave. It is cold wet and dark.
“Pleassse come in Misss Monk.”
“Please help me; Mr. Rooster has thrown me out of my house. Officer Owl could not kick him out because Mr. Rooster has a note that says I gave him my house. But I did not. Can you make him leave?”
Ms. Snake thought a minute. “Yesss. I can help you. I will need to sssend papersss to Judge Mordecai Mole. We will go to court in about three weeksss.”
“I can’t wait that long. Isn’t there anything we can do now?”
“No.” Ms. Snake said.
“I will have to find a way to get rid of Mr. Rooster myself.”
“Good bye and good luck.” Ms. Snake said.
It is late Monk Monk is tired and decides to sleep behind a rock. The wind is blowing and it is raining. She finds a dry maple leaf and falls asleep under it. During the night the wind the leaf off of Monk Monk, she wakes shaking and cold. It is still dark outside. She misses her books, her warm bed, and her house.
Monk Monk uses her key to open her big red door. She sneaks onto her bed. Mr. Rooster is asleep on top of the covers. Monk Monk is no longer afraid of the mean rooster, she is angry.
“Get out of my house. You get out now!”
Mr. Rooster’s voice is rusty from sleep. ”What are you doing here?” “How did you get in?”
“I built this house. I have secret doors everywhere. I can get in anytime I want.”
“Well if you will not leave and stay gone, I’ll bite you with my beak and eat you.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Mice have a lot of germs. You would get very sick and might even die.”
Monk Monk sees fear in Mr. Rooster’s eyes. Mr. Rooster moves back to the edge of the bed, his yellow eyes get wider, and his claw starts to tap on the floor.
“This house is crawling with mouse germs. In fact, Big Hill is full of animal germs.”
Mr. Rooster feels sick. His head hurts, his muscles are sore, he has a fever, he feels pain in his stomach, and his throat becomes so tight that he cannot speak.
Monk Monk moves closer to Mr. Rooster’s face. “Achoo!” she sneezes all over him.
Mr. Rooster jumps off Monk Monk’s bed and runs from her home, never to return again.
Monk Monk sweeps all of Mr. Rooster’s feathers outside, refills her refrigerator, and happily lives.
Mr. Rooster’s moves back in his glass house after it is finished. His fever goes away, his head stops hurting, he gets better, all except his voice. He can only speak in a whisper. The animals around Big Hill never hear Mr. Rooster waking them again.