i like toast
After an incident like that, I couldn't sleep. Would you be able to? I put on slippers and padded downstairs into the kitchen, with only the eerie glow of the clock reading 5:30 AM to keep me company. The cut on my arm was beginning to throb. I washed off the blood-speckled area and put a Band-Aid on the wound.
All thoughts of a normal day were gone, flown out of my head like a flock of birds perched on a telephone pole startled by an oncoming car. I knew that dream would be in my head all day. I could hardly wait.
Sticking two slices of sourdough bread on the verge of staleness into the toaster, I poured myself a glass of apple juice and sat down at the table as my mom shuffled into the room, not quite awake, as was evident as she nearly tripped over the cat, who leaped up with a yowl and ran out of the room.
"Mmm," she muttered, "Do I smell toast? Where's the damn coffee? Why are you up so early?" She continued like this for a fashion, stringing together nonsense phrases and mumbling incoherent words, not seeming to notice I had not answered her initial questions.
With a ping, the neatly browned toast leaped from the toaster, emitting a delicious fragrance. I leapt up, set the bread on a plate and began to spread it with butter, which melted onto the bread quickly, leaving little pools of thick, yellowy-white liquid soaked into it. I sat down and began to eat.
"So, Mom, why are you up this early?" I asked.
There was a shriek, and I whirled around, seeing Mom had found the coffee- in the scalding hot coffeepot! She leapt to the sink, alternately sucking on her finger, fanning it with her other hand and a random dishtowel and crying, "Shit! Hot!!! Hot!!! Oh, damn," and repeating the whole routine over again. Even when the cold water soothed the burn, she didn't answer. Sighing at her continued unresponsive state, I left the kitchen, forgetting the plate, sticky with butter and with a spreading knife lying across it, and I had to be called back to the table.
After I took a shower, got dressed and did the numerous tedious tasks required for getting ready for school, I quickly logged onto my laptop, sitting and humming softly on my desk. The Gerard problem had to be at the front of my mind now. I really didn't want my favorite rock star to die.
What clues to the location of the murder had been in the dream? Well, the hotel room, obviously, but there had been no name visible because of the darkness. There was also Fourth Street, but I knew lots of cities had one. There hadn't been a lot of cars on the street, but that might also have happened because it was in the middle of the night. So far I was coming up with a complete blank.
Suddenly an idea hit me. I raced over to the corner of my room where I had pinned the MCR tour schedule to my wall. I looked at the dates. It was March 24th today. I knew the band was coming to my town on the 24th of April because I had written it in ultra-strength Sharpie on my calendar and circled it about a million times. With hearts. Fine! Call me obsessed. I don't care. The most important thing was that I was going to the concert, with a little help from one of my friends, whose mother had bought her tickets for her birthday. But the tour schedule didn't help because from the dreams alone I couldn't tell what the date was! I felt helpless. How was I supposed to save Gerard if I was too useless to use the clues I had?
All the way to school I wondered what to do, if there was a way to make the dreams clearer and see more things when the dream was taking place. I said goodbye to my mom, still in a fog, and headed toward the school building, so wrapped up in the problem that I didn't notice when I bumped into a scary-looking, muscled football player.
"Yo, dude!" he yelled. "Watch where you're going!"
I muttered a quick sorry, then began to walk away. Then I stopped. A great idea, had, if you will, hit me over the head.