The Good Child

Getting up before the dawn. Being the alarm on everyone's door. I don't want any pity, this is just what I do. Make lunches for little sisters and parents. Start cooking the eggs for breakfast, gulp down a bowl of cereal as the eggs are flipped. Send my groggy sisters back to the room to fix their backwards clothes. Run through the house, pick up random things off the floor hairbrushes, paper plates, toys, schoolwork, papers, and clothes. The sun starts to rise, get my sisters' shoes on, their bags together, their hair brushed, ignore their glares, because they had to find matching socks, make sure my parents' work bags are in the right place, for when they hurry out the door, get their coffee made, remind them of the grocery list, look down at myself, and realize my PJs aren't going to make the right fashion statement at school. Ten minutes before the bus arrives, I yank on jeans and a cute shirt, run my fingers through my hair, look for my socks, throw my books in my bag, remember to give out my sisters' lunches. Rush out the door, catch my breath, run through my homework assignments in my head, hoping I didn't leave any on my bed. Ready to do this all again, for the whole school year, staying up late, getting up early, only 'thank you's I get are quick, and sometimes forgotten, but I don't mind, really, because I'm the good child, ready to face another day.