Mom stumbled down the stairs, surfacing at the bottom looking like a member of the undead. Her hair stood straight up, and her eyes blood-shot and red. Yesterday’s mascara still smeared under her eyes, and her red-framed glasses had fingerprints smeared across them. It’s any wonder she could see at all.
I hid around the corner, cautiously peering at her, hoping she wouldn’t see me. If someone planned on setting her off, it’s not going to be me. I’m not that brave or stupid.
As she walked to the coffee pot, she glared at the empty container, obviously somebody is in trouble, and I’m glad it’s not me.
She stomped to the dungeon door and yelled down. “Get up here and make me some coffee!”
My Step-dad, who I affectionately call Igor, clambered up the stairs. Appearing rather as disheveled, dressed in a gray sweat suit, although it’s early August. His curly hair resembling an Afro. His wish is my mom’s command. He either is some kind of mindless freak or he’s just as afraid of mom as us.
He tried to give her a kiss, but she turned her head. This is nothing new; mom isn’t really a morning person. Most of us stay clear of her, but poor Igor, just never learns. He starts making small talk while mom stares at him as if he lost his mind. I think he did a while ago, but that’s another story.
Within a few minutes, he retreats back to the dungeon to whatever he does down there. He’s safe but not us.
Lucifer, as I call my brother, races into the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”
She licks her lips. “Me too,” Mom says.
This is a cautionary tale; you may want to be careful, very careful on how you approach your mother first thing in the morning. Consider yourself warned.