Sunday Mornings
Sunday morning. The light streams in from the window, lifting my eyes from pleasant dreams. My feet are freezing. Glancing over, it makes sense. Samantha was hogging the covers all night. Despite us sleeping right next to each other, she pulled pretty much our entire comforter over to herself. This is a recurring issue, but one that is not likely to be solved in my lifetime. I’m a little annoyed, but the feeling of her lying against me warms me just enough to keep me from being mad at her. I pull her tighter to me and nuzzle her neck. My lips wake her and she reciprocates.
"Good morning, my love."
She gives me that smile. It’s so bright, sometimes I feel like I’ll go blind from staring into it.
"Mmmm... good morning. What time is it?"
"9 am. You stole the covers again."
"I'm sorry.”, she frowns. “Were you cold?"
"I was very cold."
She pulls herself on top of me, waking me up fully.
"Well, I can think of one way to warm you up. You feeling frisky?"
"I don't think there's been a single moment since I met you when I haven't been. But it's Sunday. So we can either do this, or I could make breakfast."
Samantha pauses to think, but ultimately rolls off of me and coldly points the door.
"Breakfast. Now. I'm in the mood for chocolate chip pancakes. Stat."
She twists and pushes me off of our bed with both feet. I grumble in her direction as I search for my pants.
"I love you!" she cheers, in that way women do that is somehow both fake sweet and wonderful at the same time.
"You only love me for my pancakes, bitch!"
The pillow hits me from behind as I start to pull on my clothes.
Rolling around, I snatch it from the floor and pounce to attack.
We end up making love anyway.
Sunday is my favorite day of the week. Most people hate it because Sunday means Monday is a breath away. Well I don't hate Mondays. Mondays mean there's a whole new week to start fresh and make the most of it. But there is nothing I love more than Sundays. Sundays are morning sex and family barbecues and dinner with friends.
Every Sunday morning I wake up and cook a huge breakfast for my family, just like Dad used to. Dad was damn sure never perfect, but I have two really great memories that always stand out with him. One is his motorcycle. When I was a little kid he would take me riding with him on the back of his motorcycle. The other thing that makes me think of my Dad is Sunday morning breakfast. Now that I have a child of my own, I do the same for her. And I hope that whatever mistakes I make with her, when she thinks back, she’ll remember Sunday morning breakfast with Dad.
Right about the time the bacon is done, I hear her tiny footsteps coming down the stairs, muffled by footie pajamas. She brushes her curly blonde locks out of her face and rubs the sleep out of her eyes. It's amazing how much Katie looks like her Mama. Clearly my genes were recessive. Which is good, because no one wants their child to have to go through the torture of being unattractive in modern society. Of course if she did look more like me, it would make it easier to keep boys away from her later on. Hmmm... maybe I should give her extra biscuits.
"Good morning Daddy!", she yawns.
"Mornin' baby."
Her little arms wrap around my leg and my heart simultaneously.
"What did you make me for breakfast?"
"Eggs, bacon, biscuits and cheese grits."
She frowns. "Can't I have pancakes, Daddy?"
Just. Like. Her. Mother. Which means I have no will to resist her. I push the big plate of beautiful breakfast to the side, next to mine. "Well, I guess I'll be eating the farm by myself today.”
This not being my first rodeo, I already had some extra pancake batter prepared. “Alright, go get your Mama from upstairs, then sit at the table."
She runs over to the stairs, but instead of going to get her like I asked, she yells at the top of her lungs.
"Mommy!!! Daddy made breakfast!"
Sigh.
Sam comes down a few minutes later and I serve them their damned pancakes. Then I sit down to try and consume 40 pounds of eggs, bacon, biscuits and cheese grits. Suddenly Sunday isn't my favorite day. Hot damn if I can't cook though! Look at my beautiful wife and child, shoveling pure sugar down their throats. I love my life.
"Katie, do you know what today is?" She thinks for a second, then her little face lights up. "Halloween?!" "Yep! And that means you're coming to the store with me today. So when you're done, I want you to go clean up, get dressed and get your costume ready." The pancakes are pretty much wasted at this point; she's too excited to eat. My genes are definitely recessive in this kid. "Did you get me the Wonder Girl costume??" I nod and her hands go in the air in celebration. Is there any better feeling than making your child happy? Not that it's that big a deal to me. The Wonder Girl costume is essentially a Wonder Woman t-shirt with blue jeans and bracelets. Not hard. But to Katie, it's a magic uniform that turns her into a hero. "Daddy, are we taking your motorbike today?" I desperately signal her to stop talking, but it's too late. My wife is staring holes in the side of my head. She can keep doing it all she wants; there's no way I'm turning to face her. "No, baby. Daddy will not be taking you to ride on that death trap. Isn't that right… Daddy?" I think I may have married a woman with heat vision.
My mouth forms something resembling words. It sounds like "yes dear, whatever you want, please don't hurt me..."
Later I take the kid to the gym, where we can hang out by the pools. The store is opening late today because of the Halloween party. The nice thing about the gym we joined is that the indoor pools have a skylight for a roof, so even though it's Winter in Tennessee, I can enjoy the sun and lay out by the pool like it's summer. After running a few errands, Sam joins us, and lays beside me in the next chair. We take a quick dip in the pool before it's time to leave.
It's 2 o'clock when we get to my store. MY. STORE. I never tire of saying that. I bought my comics shop 6 years ago, fulfilling a lifelong dream. I took a shitty, badly run store and made a business out of it. Actually, I don't even like calling it that. What I built was a community, a family. I know almost all of my customers by name. Many of them are friends with me on facebook. We have a small coffee shop with tables, so they can read their purchases right there in the store if they wish. I see their faces weekly and talk to them about their interests. I know their lives, their problems and their families. Josh and Carmen Wilkes met in my store, while arguing about whether Fables is better than Sandman. (For the record, Fables is definitely better.) I took Sarah Bukowski to the hospital after her water broke right there by the counter. Although... I try not to mention that last part to people. Something about the amniotic fluid skeeves out the youngsters. It's a community. And every fresh face is a new member of my family.
As soon as we walk through the front door, Katie rushes over in her Wonder Girl costume to the Superboy mural I painted on the wall. She then kisses the mural on the lips. It's a little odd... but certainly cute. She is Wonder Girl after all. Now I’m wondering how clean that wall is though. I flip on the light switch and my store roars to life. Halloween being today's theme, my business partner made a spotify playlist starting with Thriller as the first song. It's cheesy, but kinda cool. Good song. Speaking of my partner, I can hear Jon fiddling around in the office.
Walking out of the office, he lifts Katie into the air and kisses her on the cheek.
"Hey!"
"Where are the kids?"
"They'll be by later. The wife took them to buy candy for tonight."
“Cool. Are we ready for this?"
"Everything is running smoothly so far."
Starting at four, we have our annual Halloween party. It's costumes, candy, and a little liquor. It's one of many promotions that we do throughout the year. In September, we have the local elementary school's first grade class over and we give each of the kids one free age-appropriate comic. Nothing I wouldn’t give my kid to read. It's costly, but it gives kids a chance to read something fun and inspires them to be creative. I always thought that was important. We also have mixers for singles on Valentines Day, and a fairly decent New Year's Eve on the roof.
Around six most of the guests arrive. Some came early, just to shoot the shit. The costumes are decent this year. We always get Stormtroopers and Ghostbusters, but there's a lot of variation tonight. One of our oldest regulars, Moe, is dressed as Darth Vader and is running around pretending to Force choke people.
One family came as Reed and Sue Richards of the Fantastic Four, and their kids are wearing matching FF uniforms as Franlin and Valeria Richards. Jon is dressed as Flint from GI Joe. According to what he said, his wife Elizabeth got a pretty sweet Lady Jaye outfit to match. Can't wait to see that. I finally bought that World War II era gas mask and fedora to complete my Golden Age Sandman costume. Everyone compliments me on it, and it sparks a few conversations with some of the older fans about their favorite DC Comics character. And since Katie is Wonder Girl, Sam had to come dressed as Wonder Woman.
I would never tell her this, but the black wig is really doing it for me. Guys have been circling her like vultures all night, even though they know she's mine. Can't say I blame them; sometimes it's... humbling... how beautiful she is. And suddenly I feel the need to pay attention to her.
Sarah Evans is on the stereo. I pull off my Sandman mask, trench coat and fedora, leaving me in just dress clothes and a tie, like a proper gentleman. "May I have this dance?" I ask, bowing with my hand extended. She takes my hand and I pull her out to me on the dance floor. The other guys look pissed as she chooses to abandon their overtures in favor of being with me. "You never want to dance. What's this all about?" Sam asks as her head rests against my shoulder. "I don't know. Just... saw you standing there in that sexy little outfit, and I thought... I want to dance with my wife." Sam is quiet as her head nuzzles into my neck.
“Were you jealous?"
“Me? Bah! Never! …I want a divorce.”
“I can wear this tonight if you want." Filthy, disgusting images flicker through my mind. "Be sure that you do. And keep the wig."
And we dance. For what feels like forever, it's just me and her and the world seems to fade away. I don't even know if the music is still playing. But as always, the world intrudes. This time it's Jon’s finger tapping on my shoulder.
"Can I cut in?"
"No. Go away."
“Dude, it's story time. The kids are waiting; that means you need to go and your wife has to dance with me."
"You are an asshole. And someday I will have your head for this."
"Yeah, whatever, dude. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Samantha. Get out of here."
Sam laughs as I reluctantly let her go. "Come here, buddy!" He had better keep his hands to himself. I know where to hide the body.
Loathe as I am to leave Sam’s arms, this is the best part of the night.
Every year, I gather all the kids around at the end of the party, sit in my rocking chair, turn down the lights and tell ghost stories. I can see Katie sitting right up front along with Jon’s kids. They're a few years older, but seem to enjoy each others' company. His eldest son thinks of himself as the protector of Katie and his sister, so they both sit close by him. That's fine by me. This year, we added special effects. Or more specifically, sound effects. Wolf howls, the creak of wooden floors, and the laughter of ghosts. Or something. I'm not really sure what that's supposed to be. During one story about the ghost of a small child coming back to get revenge, I set off a lightning effect, and the boom of thunder scares even some of the adults. Katie, in particular, stands up and runs to me for comfort, jumping into my lap.
After a great night, the crowd disperses and head on their merry way. Sam takes our baby home and Jon and I are left to clean the store. Two hours later, I pull into my driveway. Exhausted, I let the clothes fall away from me and I drag myself into bed. I crash at Samantha's side, careful not to wake her. She moves instinctively to cuddle with me. And with her head against my chest, and her arm draped over me, I lay there, content.
I’m tired and I want to sleep, but what would I dream about? I already have everything I could ever want.
————-
This story was originally written in April of 2012. I don’t remember why I wrote it, but I can tell you that this was the life I dreamed of back then. Most of it still is, though I don’t really want to own a comic book store anymore. Well, maybe one that just sells old comics. The main character is obviously never named, but there’s enough there that’s from my life and desires that I can tell I was writing about myself. The photos are from a comic book store that I used to work for. The woman in the Wonder Woman is someone I used to know, but with whom I was in no way romantically involved. The guy with the lasso of truth around his neck is me, though. I changed the name of the store’s co-owner from Chris to Jon, one of my best friends. That’s Jon being choked by Lord Vader. Oh, and Reb’s Photography was the original name of my photography business. I went through a lot of names before I got to Santino Art.
