Eyree Sutherland Wed Oct 10, 2012 12:49 am
Waking up before the sun was more than just a habit now; it was almost an instinct. She couldn't remember the last time she had ever slept past five in the morning, the unfortunate side effect of having parents in the military. And she certainly wasn't going to be breaking that habit today.
Eyree had spent a great deal of her morning doing yoga in effort to waste some time, her mat rolled out beside her mattress (she still had not had the patience to make her bed since her family had moved into their house a few days ago). But she couldn't waste the entire morning and at 6:30 she finally packed it up, stuffing her mat and old CD player in her closet, which was still packed high with unopened boxes. She skipped silently down the short hallway to her bathroom, roughly pushing aside all her bleach and hair color from the night before (she had bleached her dark chestnut roots and applied the fluorescent purple dye once again to her hair). Humming an Irish lullaby her father was fond of singing, she grabbed her spray bottle and washcloth, rinsing her body vigorously with the lavender water and combing the snarls out of her brightly colored hair. Eyree had never been one to fuss over appearances. After all, she looked like she was twelve what with her petite height and almost complete lack of feminine curve, and nothing she did would ever change that. Well, unless she quit training in gymnastics. But that wasn't going to happen any time soon.
Not quite thirty minutes later, Eyree slid into the kitchen drawn by the sound of her father making grit cakes and the pot of coffee brewing on the counter. She had slapped on a coat of mascara and while she had debated wearing pants to her first day of school (people were bound to ask about the scars all over her legs sooner or later), she ended up in tan short shorts and a thin teal crop top, an ensemble that bared her battered yet buff gymnast's body to the best advantage. She kissed her mother on the cheek, taking the seat next to her at the table, welcoming the cup of pure black coffee that was pushed her way. Nursing her own cup of coffee, Hanna Sutherland glanced up over the rim of her cup, eyeing her daughter and her pseudo-slutty outfit. But, instead of demanding her daughter change into something more appropriate, she said dryly, "You know, if you quit gymnastics, you might actually grow some boobs and get a boyfriend, goleb'."
She heard her father chuckling from his place at the stove and her own shoulders began to shake in subdued chuckles. Her mother's dry observations and casual use of Russian pet names had never ceased to amuse her daughter. "Mat', mat'," she chided, her raspy voice light and equally as dry. "Don't worry. In a few years, I'll be out of my prime and I'll be forced to quit, God willing I don't tear another ACL. Then I can have all the boyfriends I want," she counter. Eyree slammed back the rest of her coffee as her father approached the table. "Alright ladies. Let's put away the jests until after breakfast." And he set down the plate of grit cakes and bowl of grapes.
The Sutherland's had established a morning routine. Richard always made breakfast, vacillating between Irish and Italian cooking, and Eyree and her mother would drink their black coffee together, exchanging teasing barbs with each other, often in Russian or Hebrew, depending on what mood Hanna was in. Then after breakfast, they would move into the next room, her father taking out his fiddle. Today, he sat in one of their well-worn chairs, while she and her mother took up the couch, Eyree resting her head in her mother's lap. While Richard played a handful of songs, Hanna ran her hair through her daughter's bright purple hair, watching as her eyes closed in contentment. Hanna sang along to the songs in Hebrew, softly, just loud enough for Eyree to hear while her fingers nimbly braided tiny golden disks into her hair.
Finally, as eight o'clock began to roll nearer, her father put his fiddle down. "Don't get too relaxed, sunshine. You've still got school today," he rumbled jovially. Eyree popped one eye open, smirking at her father. She sighed theatrically, climbing off the couch, fingering the braid her mother had done tenderly. "Alright, I guess I'll try not to get too complacent. So long as you do the same." She kissed her father on the cheek. "You're starting to let your beard grow in! Shame, shame," she tsked, dancing away from her father's tickling fingers. She laughed, fetching her functional leather sandals from the doorway and shouldering her canvas camouflage bag that would be used as her book bag. It was army-issued, sturdy though bulky, and certainly conspicuous. She could easily be picked out as the "army brat" that had transferred to Martin Van Buren. Waving a goodbye, she unearthed her keys, making her way towards the charcoal grey SUV that sat in the driveway. Her parents had surprised her by bringing home not one, but two cars from the dealership yesterday, announcing that one would be hers to use. She had quickly laid claim to the beautiful metallic grey one.
She had never been nervous about starting over somewhere new before. But as she pulled out of the driveway, steering her way around the winding streets towards the high school, she found an obnoxious seed of worry and nerves balled into her stomach. What was so different about Rai Island that made her feel this way?
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