The Morning Ritual

Those days we still had a cock that crowed at dawn. I got up, threw some water in my face, and went down for breakfast with Auntie. She cleaned up after the meal, and I took the scraps to the barn.

They were waiting for me. Everyone said good morning, except Grandmother.

I fed them in turn, starting with Father, folding some scraps into old newsprint and squeezing it between the bars.

Mother asked how my new job was going. Very well Mother, I said. Thank you for asking.

Uncle took his portion eagerly, discussing the Red Sox as he stuffed his mouth with my discarded hash browns. I hadn’t the heart to tell him I wasn’t a Sox fan.

Grandmother kept her back to me. When Grandfather died, Auntie had to hold her down while I dragged him out. So I segregated Mother and Father, preferring not to repeat the ugly performance in the future.

I watched them eat, and then gave them some new straw. Before I left I said, I’ll be back soon enough so let’s keep the cage rattling down. Okay?

In the house, Auntie was having a second cup of tea. When I came in she jumped up and began sweeping the floor. She had been nervous since turning fifty the month before. I hated to see her like that. There was no rush.